


At Your Service

by alkjira



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Not My Fault, chapters not in chronological order, evil plotbunny, human!AU, modern!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:31:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 40,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story about TV-star handyman Dwalin Fundinson and celebrity chef Bilbo Baggins, and includes such memorable chapters as [censored by Bilbo's publicist Dori Rivers]</p><p>"It's good though!" - Tauriel Itaril, Dwalin's publicist. "Sometimes Dwalin doesn't wear any pants."</p><p>"Tauriel, you're fired." - Dwalin Fundinson, handyman extraordinaire and lover of cookies.</p><p>"She has a point though, darling." - Bilbo Baggins, man of a thousand desserts and waistcoats.</p><p>"Just read the damn thing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diemarysues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/gifts).



> I swear this is not my fault *points at diemarysues* I'm innocent.

The worst thing about being on the telly is that people (or perhaps publicists weren’t really people) expected you to enjoy being around _other_ people. Dwalin doesn’t know how this stupid idea got started, but he wouldn’t mind being the one to end it. Hell, he doesn’t even know who half these people are, which is probably why he’s taken to hiding next to the buffet table.  
  
At least this time it’s, thank fuck, not one of those stupid gala events where he needs to sit around and look like he’s not falling asleep. It’s just a promotional party their channel has put together to kick-off a new year of shows and series and rainbows and whatnot.  
  
 _Technically_ it’s supposed to be an office party, but Dwalin is pretty sure that office parties are not supposed to be filmed and televised. Then again, that sounds like just the kind of brain-dead reality show some of the execs likes, so he wouldn’t be surprised to see it be a regular thing in the 9pm slot. Can’t be worse than whatever crap they’re currently having there.  
  
At least _his_ show actually teaches people something. Fine, it’s not like anyone is going to be giving him a Nobel Prize for showing people how to build shit that doesn’t immediately fall down on them, but the ratings are decent and they got the renewal so apparently he’s doing something right.  
  
Some of the reviewers has taken to call him the Gordon Ramsay of home improvement, which Dwalin has chosen to take as being connected to his swearing and not that he’s an annoying little bugger who talks more than he actually cooks (or in Dwalin’s case, builds things). At least this reputation (especially when combined with a severe frown) is enough to keep most of the people away, and at least _this_ food is good, Dwalin thinks as he supplies himself with another one of the little what’s its.  
  
It’s some sort of bread, and there’s something brightly coloured on it, but all Dwalin really cares to know is that they taste delicious. And they are all his, because with television being what it is, there’s not exactly a rush of people wanting to stuff their faces. God forbid that they might end up gaining a pound and make a headline. Fucking crazy tabloids.  
  
Earlier he heard a girl from one of the morning shows talk to somebody about her new diet; nothing but hardboiled eggs. Dwalin shudders when he remembered the almost manic expression the girl had been wearing when as she’d gone on about how good it made her feel while the man she’d been talking with had nodded as if it made perfect sense.  
  
And Balin wonders why he wouldn’t go to these kind of things if not for there being a bloody clause about them in his contract…  
  
“Is there something wrong with the food?” an anxious voice asks, and Dwalin wills his frown away to turn his head down to look at a little curly haired man he’d seen flitting about with plates throughout the evening. He’s not wearing the same type of clothes as the rest of the waiting staff, but perhaps he’s their boss or something.  
  
Considering that he makes a pretty fine figure in the light coloured suit and green waistcoat that he’s wearing, Dwalin’s not going to complain.  
  
"No, very good this," Dwalin rumbles to him. "Any more?" he adds, because when he looks down at the plate it’s empty.

The man beams. “Of course. Just wait a second.”  
  
He rushes away, and if Dwalin’s gaze happens to track the man’s arse as he walks away… well, it’s a damned fine arse. Shame he’s not going to be able to ask him out for a drink, but trying to get with someone who’s getting paid to wait on him cut a little too close to other things for Dwalin’s taste.  
  
Besides, his publicist was probably going to burst his eardrums if he tried to go with a guy when there were so many cameras around. Which on second thought might be worth it if that meant he got to yell back at Mister. _‘Being gay does not fit the image we are trying to give you’_.  
  
 Fucking creep. If he hadn’t been hired by the channel Dwalin would have fired him long ago, and pretty soon he was going to have to give one of those starlet hissy fits and demand that something had to be done. As long as something actually got done, it would be worth it.

Out of the corner of his eye Dwalin saw a now familiar mop of curls bobbing his way. Waistcoat was carrying a new plate filled with more of the delicious little morsels and Dwalin smiled appreciatively, for more than one reason.  
  
“No, no, wait,” Waistcoat admonishes when Dwalin reaches for them. “Just let me…”  
  
Seemingly out of nowhere he produces half of a lemon and carefully squirts a bit of juice down on one of the morsels. “I couldn’t do this on the ones that had to be left lying around,” he explains as he hands Dwalin the result. “Leave them for too long and lemon juice just takes over everything else. But they’re better this way.”  
  
Indeed they are, and Dwalin grunts happily as the tart flavour burst on his tongue chased by the more subtle taste of the brightly coloured stuff. It earns him another beaming smile and Dwalin takes a second to argue with himself over his morals about asking out someone who might not feel comfortable with saying no. Maybe he could just ask for the recipe instead, and then he could hire someone to make them. Or maybe he could just hire this guy. Food prostitution was a lot more morally neat than the regular kind.  
  
“You make these?” Dwalin asks, already feeling fairly confident that he’ll get a positive reply. As such it’s a bit of a surprise when Waistcoats smile dims a bit and he glances away.  
  
“Not really,” he hedges. “You see, I was not actually allowed in the kitchen. Insurance reasons in case of food poisoning or something like that. Which I’m sure is not actually a concern,” he hastens to add when Dwalin looks dubiously down at the bit of deliciousness that he’s holding.  
  
“They’re not _allowing_ their boss in the kitchen?” Dwalin asks.  
  
“Oh, you think- I’m not-,” Waistcoat sticks out a hand for Dwalin to shake and Dwalin watches with interest how his own hand basically engulfs the other, especially when he realises that Waistcoat is doing the same thing, with a slight flush on his face. Accursed morals.  
  
“Bilbo Baggins,” Waistcoat, apparently Bilbo, blurts eventually. “That is my name, nice to meet you..?”  
  
“Dwalin Fundinson.” Dwalin carefully squeezes Bilbo’s hand and again laments his morals. He wouldn’t mind getting a chance to see if how far down that blush goes.

“Fundinson,” Bilbo murmurs, not taking his hand back. “Oh, you were the one who built the bed that looked like a dragon on that show! My nephew loved that, hasn’t stopped pestering his parents about it yet.”  
  
The blush darkens slightly when the shorter man realises that they are now essentially holding hands, both having given up any pretence of shaking.  
  
“Um, may I have my hand back?” he asks, glancing up at Dwalin through his eyelashes.  
  
“Depends,” Dwalin says and affects a frown. “Are you willing to trade me for the recipe to the things I just ate?”  
  
“My agent would want me to suggest that you buy my book,” Bilbo says with a teasing smile. “But I think something can be arranged. I do need this hand to-”  
  
“Book?” Dwalin asks blankly.  
  
“I, yes?”  
  
“So you’re not working for the catering company?”  
  
“No?” Bilbo replies, and while he sounds rather confused about it, it’s still a no. “I’d hate to sound like my own worst nightmare, but you still don’t know who I am, do you?”  
  
Dwalin slowly shakes his head, and casually rubs his thumb over Bilbo’s knuckles. Hell, if he’s not working for the catering company, then maybe…  
  
“We’re actually sharing an employer, and I’m on air at 8am on Sundays with Second Breakfast, and then on Thursday evenings with Teatime.” Bilbo winced. “And I’m terribly sorry for sounding as if I’m doing press. I’m brainwashed by too many interviews. And now I sound like a snob. Brilliant...”  
  
Dwalin has a vague suspicion that he’s heard about both of these shows, but truth be told he doesn’t really watch a lot of television. That he ended up working with it was definitely by coincidence and not design.  
  
“Sorry,” he shrugs, because it seems polite to apologise for not recognizing someone who is essentially a co-worker, but Bilbo just smiles at him.  
  
“It’s completely fine. I didn’t really recognize you at first either. However, you are still holding my hand,” he points out, wiggling his fingers inside Dwalin’s grasp.  
  
“So I am,” Dwalin agrees. “And since I’ve not seen any recipe I’d say that’s fair. But now it so happens that my terms have changed.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“I want the recipe, and if you don’t mind, I wouldn’t say no to your phone number.”  
  
This time when the blush comes, it also spreads to the (unexpectedly pointy) tips of Bilbo’s ears and while that is rather fetching Dwalin can’t help but notice that no reply is forthcoming. He’s just about to drop Bilbo’s hand and make his excuses when the other man surprises him by takes a step closer.  
  
This makes the height difference between the two of them very obvious, and Dwalin hopes that Bilbo coming closer does in fact mean that he’s not intimidated. The pleased smile that he’s wearing does seem to be a point in Dwalin’s favour.  
  
“But then you get two things,” Bilbo murmurs. “And I only get my hand back.”  
  
“Seems like a good hand,” Dwalin says, squeezing lightly. “Don’t you think it’s an even exchange?”  
  
“I don’t know…” Bilbo looks doubtful. “But if you give me your phone number as well, then we’ll have a deal.”  
  
“Agreed,” Dwalin says quickly (too quickly, good thing Balin isn’t around to smirk at him) and fishes up his phone from his trouser pocket.  
  
“I may need both my thumbs for this,” Bilbo points out when Dwalin hands him the phone. “Or we’ll be here all night as I’m not a very good texter.”  
  
“It better not be a trick,” Dwalin warns when he finally releases Bilbo’s hand, but he smiles when he does it, and Bilbo smiles back, so it would seem as if the joke got across.  
  
“No trick,” Bilbo promises. “However, I don’t happen to carry any recipes on me… Can I give you an IOU? To be filled at a later date? I promise I’m good for it.”  
  
Right, Dwalin is definitely firing his publicist, because it’s all he can do not to bend down and kiss the pretty little smirk aimed his way. He’s not going to be able to hold out for very long if this actually works out, and if Smaug is going to have an issue with that, he can just go and fuck himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "At Your Service" is the name of Dwalin's show...
> 
> Oh, and to make it clear. Bilbo has a cooking show (two actually) and did indeed do the recipes for the food served at the party (someone thought it'd be clever) but he was not allowed to actually do anything in the kitchen, so he took to sneaking about and fixing things when the food had been made instead. Much to the chagrin of the waiting staff...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WAS NOT MEANT TO HAPPEN
> 
> Stupid bunny...
> 
> Set pretty far down the road from their first meeting. And the rating is up a notch.

Three months of living together, and it was still very nice to home to the sound of someone else already puttering about in the house. Well, it was nice as long as it didn’t turn out to be a burglar, but it seemed pretty damned unlikely that a burglar would have stayed to make chocolate chip cookies, and Dwalin most _definitely_ smelled cookies. 

Shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the hall table Dwalin followed his nose into the kitchen. The smell got stronger and stronger, but no cookies were to be seen when he entered. On the plus side, it was indeed Bilbo who was home, and not a burglar.  
  
Bilbo was in the process of doing the dishes, a habit that Dwalin couldn’t decide if he found cute or confusing, because it didn't matter how many times Dwalin pointed out that he did own a dishwasher, Bilbo still happily ignored it even though it took much more time, effort and water to do it by hand. Still, since it did seem to make him happy Dwalin didn't press the issue. 

"Cookies?" he asked in lieu of a greeting. They had to be somewhere.

Bilbo turned his head, eyebrows raised in mock-surprise. "What gave it away?"

"Are they for me?" Because sometimes they weren’t, and those were always tragic occasions. One time he’d come home to find that Bilbo had been experimenting with a new cookie recipe, and since he hadn’t been happy with how they'd turned out he’d just thrown all the cookies away. It was possible that Dwalin still had nightmares about that time...

"Nooo,” Bilbo said, drawing out the word. ”For the secret lover who is currently hiding in bedroom closet, but you may have one later if you are good."

"I can be good," Dwalin promised, pressing himself up along Bilbo's back and letting his hands trail down the smaller man's sides. "I can be very good."

Bilbo wriggled his arse back at the beginnings of Dwalin's erection and hummed. 

"I'm going to pretend that's for me and not the cookies, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Dwalin said throatily as he lifted a hand to turn Bilbo's head to the side. The kiss tasted like sugar and chocolate and Dwalin hummed contently. Next to actually having a cookie this was the best thing. And if pressed, he probably would pick Bilbo over cookies, but it was rather nice that he usually didn't have to choose.

Sudsy, wet hands came up to clutch at his arms as Bilbo turned around, but Dwalin could care less as long as Bilbo kept touching him.  
  
When another deep kiss left Dwalin with the beginnings of a crick in his neck, he crab-walked them along to a free part of the sink and hoisted Bilbo up on it. 

"I see you missed the sink full of water this time," Bilbo murmured. 

"Make one mistake," Dwalin complained. "'S not my fault you're so bloody distracting."

The shocked expression Bilbo had been wearing when he found himself arse first in a water filled kitchen sink had almost been worth having to clean up the resulting mess. But not worth having to delay getting Bilbo naked, which was why Dwalin was doing his best to avoid a repeat performance.

Bilbo tugged impatiently at Dwalins t-shirt.  
  
"Why aren't you naked?" 

"I think it has something to do with how I'm still wearing clothes," Dwalin said, grinning when Bilbo huffed and rolled his eyes. 

Reaching back Dwalin grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head. 

"Better?"

"Much, thank you." The thanks was clearly given automatically and Dwalin grinned again. Bilbo could be such a proper little bastard and Dwalin told him as much. 

"There's nothing wrong with being polite," Bilbo replied haughtily, if more than a bit distracted as his hands, and attention, were already all over Dwalin's chest. "You might want to try it yourself, there's nothing wrong with being a gentleman either.”

Dwalin frowned thoughtfully and casually placed a hand at the small if Bilbo's back. From there it was easy enough to put his other hand beneath Bilbo's knees and swing the smaller man up in a bridal carry; Bilbo's hands flailing wildly until they came to clutch at Dwalin's shoulders. 

"Isn't this how the gentlemen did it?" Dwalin asked innocently as Bilbo muttered threats and dug his fingers into the side of Dwalin's neck. 

"No," Bilbo said and Dwalin graciously didn’t mention that he was pouting. "Let me back up."

"Say please?" Dwalin smirked. "You know, just to set a good example for me."

"Let me back up before you drop me," Bilbo demanded, and Dwalin flexed his arms, not missing how Bilbo's eyes darkened when it became obvious that the larger man could hold him up for quite a while yet. Dwalin wasn't sure if it was desire or irritation, but he was hoping for the former mixed in with a bit of the latter... Bilbo was always particularly gorgeous when being a bit riled up. 

"Fine, but if you ever want to eat my cookies again, you'll let me up right now."

With a sigh Dwalin complied, just in case the threat was real. 

"Most people threaten to withhold sex, not cookies," he complained half-heartedly. 

"Most people are stupid then," Bilbo stated as he pulled lightly at Dwalin's beard. "Why punish myself just because you are being a pest."

"I see how it is," Dwalin lamented, pushing his hips into Bilbo's soft stomach and turning his head into Bilbo's hand. "I guess I'm at your service then."

Bilbo shuddered. "You have to stop saying that. I'm beginning to have a conditioned response to it and that could be awkward if I'm ever forced to watch clips of your show in public."

"But I am _at your service_ ," Dwalin smirked, letting his voice drop lower on the last words. 

"If I ever have to be on national television with an erection I'm blaming you," Bilbo muttered darkly. 

"I hope so," Dwalin said with a raised eyebrow. "Or is there really someone I have to drag out of the closet and proceed to throw out a window?"

"Brute," Bilbo sniffed. "I wouldn’t call this is being good at _all_."

“While back on the subject…” Dwalin drawled. “Your _cookies_  is not the only thing of yours I'd like to eat. 

It took a minute – as well as Dwalin meaningfully squeezing Bilbo's ass, for the other man to catch his meaning. But after that it didn’t take long for Bilbo to agree (though the blush hung around for a lot longer).

A quick shower later and Bilbo was spread out on the bed, looking - pun most _definitely_ intended - good enough to eat. 

“Maybe I should get the chocolate sauce,” Dwalin said. “I was in the mood for chocolate, and then someone withheld cookies.”

“You are not putting chocolate in me,” Bilbo protested, squirming prettily on top of the dark blue sheets. "There is a line, and that's clearly overstepping it."

“I could put it on you?” Dwalin suggested, giving Bilbo's dick a slow pump, rubbing his thumb over the wet head. 

 A seconds consideration.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Dwalin grinned. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo meets Thorin, Dwalin gets worked up about tabloids. And somewhere in this bit, the phrase: 'Gay Naked Threesome Incestuous Three-way Drama’ is included.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set somewhere between chapter 1 and chapter 2, but closer to chapter 1.

Despite his efforts to be sneaky and quiet, (easier said than done when you were over 200 pounds and 6 feet) Bilbo stirred when Dwalin climbed out of bed. There was a yawn, and then the little blanket covered lump made an interrogative sound.

“Bacon and eggs?” Dwalin offered and the lump hummed happily in reply. Not bothering with his pants Dwalin just pulled on his jeans and went downstairs to the kitchen. He would have gone starkers, but frying bacon without covering up your more vital bits was _not_ a good idea, as learnt in the bacon incident of '94.   
  
It was the third time Bilbo spent the night and Dwalin smiled to himself as he opened the refrigerator door. Things were going pretty good, more than good in fact.  
  
Far better than Dwalin could ever have imagined after first noticing Bilbo fluttering about at the party.  
  
To be completely honest, Dwalin liked Bilbo a lot more than he expected to. Not that he was shallow enough to suggest a date _only_ due to the intriguing shape of a backside inside sharply tailored trousers… No, there had been something about Bilbo beyond just being pretty to look at, but Dwalin had not been expecting… whatever it was that they currently had.

What he _had_ been expecting was more along the lines of having a couple of dates and then maybe to getting to see that cute arse without any trousers in the way, and not long after that Bilbo would have realised that he could do so much better than someone like Dwalin who hadn’t actually had a romantic relationship with anyone in the last ten years.  
  
It was possible that realisation would yet come for Bilbo, but so far it hadn’t even hinted about showing up. And as for Dwalin, he _really_ liked the little curly haired lump currently occupying his bed and who had a real penchant for hogging all the covers and still somehow managing to have cold feet which without fail made themselves at home on Dwalin’s calves. He liked all of that and more; like the way Bilbo’s eyes looked when he smiled and how he could be a really sarcastic little shit when he wanted to – hiding it behind a coating of politeness of course - and pretty much everything in-between those two things. Which amounted to a fairly huge list.  
  
As he was frying the bacon Dwalin almost accidentally dragged the entire pan off the stove when arms suddenly wrapped around his stomach.  
  
“I need a bell for you,” he said over his shoulder to Bilbo who clung to him like a limpet. “A pretty collar and a little tingling bell so you’ll stop sneaking up on me.”  
  
“I don’t sneak,” Bilbo protested, his voice slightly muffled as he was speaking directly into Dwalin's back. “You’re just used to being around people who carry hammers and nails and other things that constantly make noise.”  
  
“As if you don’t constantly make noise, except for when you're sneaking," Dwalin teased, turning around to claim a kiss. However, he was then quite distracted by what Bilbo was wearing.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed one of your shirts,” the little bastard said innocently while standing around in Dwalin’s Led Zeppelin T-shirt, as if he couldn’t remember what him wearing Dwalin’s clothes led to the last time he stayed over. 

The T-shirt was, unsurprisingly, rather big on Bilbo, covering him to mid-thigh, but that still left a lot of pale skin to distract Dwalin from the food he was preparing. And making Bilbo take it off wouldn't really help...  
  
Curling a finger into the collar of the shirt Dwalin yanked Bilbo forward and stole a quick kiss, pressing the fork he’d been using to flip the bacon into his hand.  
  
“Right, if you are going to wear that you can be the one to finish the food and I’ll-“  
  
The doorbell rang.  
  
“I’ll go get the door,” Dwalin finished smugly, instead of going with the intended, and rather awkward: ‘stand around and gawk at you’. “It’s probably Balin, you fine with him joining us for breakfast?”  
  
“Sure,” Bilbo nodded, then he looked down at himself with a frown. “But should I get dressed? Right now we look like we’ve escaped from a nudist colony with only one set of clothes between us.”  
  
“I think he’d already figured out that you had legs,” Dwalin said, tilting his head as if mulling something over. “And if he hadn’t, he’ll just benefit from realising that he doesn’t actually know everything.”  
  
“Be nice to your brother,” Bilbo scolded, pointing the fork at him. “He was really kind when I met him before.”  
  
Relieved was probably more like it, Dwalin thought to himself. For someone who seemed happy to live by himself with only books to keep him company, his brother had been getting increasingly concerned the more years passed without Dwalin ‘settling down’ with someone.  
  
After he’d met Bilbo he’d been all but vibrating with happiness that Dwalin finally found such a' nice, polite young man'. Luckily, Bilbo hadn’t been around to hear that part, because Dwalin had already learnt that the smaller man could get a bit testy about the slight age difference between them.  
  
Eight years weren’t really that much considering that it put Bilbo at 33 compared to Dwalin’s 41.  Sure, Bilbo could probably pass for someone a bit younger; Dwalin suspected it was the curly hair and big eyes that did it, but it wasn’t like he looked anything like a kid, so to be annoyed about someone calling him young was likely just a sign that he’d not yet stumbled upon the part of middle-age when one began to appreciate such things. He'd come to appriciate it more when the first grey hairs arrived.  
  
-

When peering through the peephole in the door it was _not_ Balin that Dwalin found on the other side of it. Instead it was Thorin.  
  
Bilbo hadn’t met Thorin yet since Dwalin’s cousin hadn’t even been in the country for the past few months. And also, apart from Balin, Dwalin hadn’t really told anyone that he was… (was ‘seeing someone’ much too ridiculous to use for two grown men?), hadn’t told anyone about Bilbo since he didn’t really want to share him just yet (this was _definitely_ ridiculous, but it couldn't be helped).  
  
They’d managed to keep it from the bloody press as well, and if Smaug hadn’t been fired he probably would have been happy about that, but it really had more to do with Dwalin again not wanting to share Bilbo with anyone. And now Thorin would be the second one after Balin to meet him. Thorin who, unlike Balin, liked new people about as much as Dwalin enjoyed being interviewed by gossip columns, and who didn't know how to deal with them if it wasn't ordering them about. Fucking hell.

“Don't be a bastard,” Dwalin warned his cousin as he opened the door.

“Nice to see you too,” Thorin replied, raising an eyebrow. “I take it you woke up on entirely the wrong side of the bed this morning.”  
  
“Oh fuck off,” Dwalin grumbled as he pulled Thorin in for a brief hug. “It’s just that-“  
  
“Balin, how many eggs would you, _oh_.”  
  
“Or maybe there was another bed related incident this morning,” Thorin continued with a much too interested look at the half-naked Bilbo who had shown up behind Dwalin.  
  
Dwalin slapped the back of his cousin’s head and Thorin pulled back and frowned at him.  
  
“Hello there,” Bilbo said, pulling a bit awkwardly at the T-shirt as he waved at Thorin.  
  
“Everyone inside before one of the damned tabloids sniffs this out,” Dwalin commanded when Bilbo took a step closer to the porch.  
  
Usually they didn’t bother with him, not after the time when they’d posted a photo of him and Dís; who at the time had been pregnant with Kíli, claiming Dwalin as the father simply because he’d been giving her a hug. The result of that was that Dís _husband_ , who suitably enough happened to be a lawyer, made sure the rag rather regretted it. Still, if there was one thing that would work like catnip on them it was the chance to use something like: ‘Gay Naked Threesome Incestuous Three-way Drama’ as a headline above a photo of Bilbo, Thorin and him. Or some horrible pun based on their professions... but to save his sanity Dwalin let go of that thought as quickly as it'd come.  
  
And if that was not enough to simply make something up based on what they thought they saw… everyone already knew what side of the field Bilbo was playing on, so if they were really unlucky he’d be accused of seducing Dwalin, and maybe even Thorin, to the dark side, the dark side of course being gay. Bloody fucking tabloids and their idiotic bullshit ideas. Apart from weather people they had to be the only bloody profession who regularly made up shit and actually _thought_ it was legit.  
  
Realising that he was working himself up over nothing, there had not been any photographers lying in wait in the bushes after all, Dwalin ushered Bilbo and Thorin inside and took a deep breath as the door closed.  
  
“So, I’m Bilbo,” Bilbo said, holding out a hand for Thorin to shake. “Bilbo Baggins.”  
  
“I do know who you are, Mister Baggins,” Thorin said drily. “I happen to own a television. But I was not aware that you knew my cousin.”  
  
“Oh, cousin?” Bilbo perked up. “So you’d be either Thorin, Frerin, Dáin, Óin or Glóin then?”  
  
“Nah,” Dwalin said, curling an arm around Bilbo’s waist. “This is of course the lovely Dís.”  
  
“Were you this funny when we last met?” Thorin said with a glare.  
  
“It’s your own fault for being a rude bugger and not introducing yourself.”  
  
“Are you Thorin?” Bilbo blurted, and Thorin’s eyebrow rose once again.  
  
“What have you been telling him about me?”  
  
“Obviously that you are a rude bugger,” Dwalin said with a smirk, poking Bilbo in the side when the smaller man blushed.  
  
“Don’t listen to him, Mister… Oh, I don’t actually know your last name, unless it’s the same as Dwalin’s?”  
  
“It’s Oakenshield,” Thorin replied. “But, Thorin is fine. You _certainly_ seem to be on good enough terms with my cousin to call me by my first name.”  
  
Thorin somehow managed to make it sound like Bilbo had done something wrong by knowing Dwalin that well, and Dwalin felt the need to slap his cousin’s head once more, so he did.  
  
“Will you stop that,” Thorin demanded, rubbing the back of his head.  
  
“Will you remember what I told you when opening the door?” Dwalin said and showed his teeth in something that could have been called a smile if you used most of your imagination to describe it.  
  
“Will you stay for breakfast?” Bilbo asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now an au of this au, lol  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/965364/chapters/1893622
> 
> Dwalin/Bilbo/Thorin  
> Where Thorin does more than just look.   
> Since diemarysues was the one to infect me with this bunny in the first place, I think this development is only fair. 
> 
> But in my universe:  
> To sum it up, it took a while for Thorin to accept Bilbo, but when he did they got along pretty well. Thorin especially delighted in spilling all sorts of information Dwalin would have preferred not to share with his lover, (payback for all the headslapping, Thorin claimed) and Bilbo enjoyed having found another person to feed, because Thorin was extremely crap at taking care of himself since he was used to living in hotels and having food appear as if by a miracle.
> 
> Thorin works in the family business; which is owning a chain of hotels all around the world, and the overseeing of them. Imagine Erebor is like Hilton and you get the idea.
> 
> AND REALLY PLOTBUNNY, YOU ARE A PERSISTENT ONE. AND WHY ARE WE JUMPING IN TIME SO MUCH?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, remember Dwalin's comment about Bilbo needing a collar?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after chapter 1 and 3. but before 2. Maybe a few weeks after 3.

Having a chef occasionally stay with you means that you’ll have a sad chef staying with you unless there's actually food in the house that he can cook. Which is why Dwalin has taken to visiting the local supermarket _before_ Bilbo is set to come over. Never let it be said that he can’t learn from past mistakes. Bilbo had not been pleased upon learning that Dwalin’s fridge and cupboards reflected that for him, cooking mostly meant something that other people did in restaurants.  
  
And no, Dwalin is not wasting the time they have when none of them is doing a show, or flitting around the country on the way to doing a show, by going grocery shopping together.  
  
Bilbo can – and will – spend a full hour in the fruits and veg section, and Dwalin can think of _much_ better ways to spend an hour, ways which do not include cooing over radishes.  
  
Also if Bilbo is left unsupervised even for a second he will immediately acquire a tail of fans, and some ass-backwards, outdated, 19 th century sense of propriety won’t allow him to leave before everyone has gotten an autograph, photo, first born, or whatever outrageous thing they ask for.    
  
(Somehow, when Dwalin is around to glare at them, less people approach Bilbo. Go figure. But it’s a very useful skillset, no doubt about it, and he uses it just as often on his own fans. Sadly, most of them are starting to get used to it.)  
  
Anyway, loaded with plastic bags Dwalin is walking back home from Sainsbury’s when he notices the store. And the display. And the pink cat collar with two tiny bells on it and a lot of sparkling crystals.  
  
Dwalin grins. Bilbo still manages to sneak up on him (“I’m not trying to sneak, I swear!”) on average once a day, and while this collar is much too small for a human neck, maybe he can manage to fit it around Bilbo’s ankle or something like that. Bilbo is often fairly foggy first thing in the morning, so it’s _possible_ that it might actually get to stay on a while before he notices it.  
  
The mental image is just too hilarious not to try and make real, so when Dwalin gets home, it’s with a pink cat collar in his coat pocket.  
  
And sure enough, the next morning Dwalin hears the sound of Bilbo getting out of bed – and then as Bilbo is coming down the stairs, Dwalin hears the tiny tinkling sound of the bells.

Coming into the kitchen Bilbo’s eyes are just barely open, but he marches ( _ting! ting! ting!_ ) up to where Dwalin is sitting by the kitchen table, and pokes athis shoulder until Dwalin slides back his chair enough to make room for the smaller man in his lap.  
  
“Did I wake you?” Dwalin asks innocently, knowing very well that he didn’t; that Bilbo didn’t even wake up when Dwalin carefully fastened the collar around his leg.  
  
“No,” Bilbo mutters, burrowing closer to Dwalin. “But I don’t see why you need to be up so early. I woke up and you weren’t there when you were supposed to be there, and then I couldn’t go back to sleep.”  
  
“That is doing bloody wonders for my self-image,” Dwalin tells him, stroking his hand over Bilbo’s warm, dressing-gown covered back. Yes a dressing gown, just like a fussy little old lady. It’s quilted, has a velvet collar, and it’s fucking ridiculously charming for something that is probably also worn by old grannies all over the world. “That you want me back in bed as a sleeping aid. The producers are going to be thrilled. They keep telling me I need to be more approachable, being a teddy bear should make them shut up.”  
  
“It’s _your_ bed,” Bilbo tells Dwalin’s collar bone sulkily. “Seems wrong without you in it. And it’s-” he peers blearily at the microwave oven. “Dear lord, it’s 6am on a day where none of us have to be anywhere. Why are you even up?”  
  
“There was something I needed to do,” Dwalin says, trying not to burt out laughing. “But let’s go back to bed. Your word, and all that.”  
  
Bilbo gives him a slightly suspicious look, and Dwalin doesn’t even pretend to look innocent, he just grins.

The grin then grows bigger with every _ting!_ as they’re walking towards the staircase.  
  
“Do you hear that?” Bilbo asks, just as they’ve reached the foot of the stairs. As they’re standing still, Dwalin can honestly answer in the negative.  
  
“You don’t have wind chimes anywhere, do you?”  
  
Again, Dwalin can respond with a no. If Bilbo was a bit more awake he’d probably start being alarmed by the grin Dwalin can’t seem to get rid of, but as things are, Dwalin just gets to be on the receiving end of another slightly suspicious look.  
  
 _ting! ting! ting!_ goes Bilbo up the stairs, and by the time they are in bed again, Dwalin’s cheeks are actually beginning to hurt.  
  
A couple of hours later, Bilbo is considerably less amused when he discovers the collar, and the next morning Dwalin wakes up with the bells braided into his beard.  
  
It takes a long time getting rid of them without having to resort to a pair of scissors, but still, it was _completely_ worth it. Shame he hadn’t thought to film it. Surely celebrity bell tapes are less likely to get into the wrong hands compared to sex tapes?  
  
-  
  
About a week and half-a day later Dwalin nods at the doorman at the building Bilbo lives in, ambles into the elevator and presses the number for the floor for Bilbo’s flat.  
  
There’s something to be said for living in a flat and living closer to the centre of town. Dwalin’s house is entirely the wrong way from the channel’s HQ, so every time he’s had to go there to film some follow up bits for the show, it takes him about two hours to get home by car. But he can be at Bilbo’s within fifteen minutes as long as the tube hasn’t broken down. Then again, he still prefers his house, he’s fixed it up himself, and there’s something comforting in knowing that he actually owns the entirety of it, not just a piece in something someone else owns.  
  
The door to Bilbo’s flat isn’t locked, which makes Dwalin frown. The first time Dwalin came by wanting to see Bilbo, the doorman; Beorn, just glared at him until Bilbo phoned down to tell him that it was okay. And all that led to at first was actually just to make Beorn glare at Dwalin in an even more threatening manner, though eventually he was allowed inside. So maybe it’s not likely that Beorn will just let in random people off the street, but nonetheless, locking doors should be mandatory.

“I’m in here!” Bilbo calls as Dwalin is shutting the door (and locking it) behind himself. Based on where ‘here’ was coming from, it rather sounded like Bilbo was in the bedroom, and that was always nice. Easy to just tumble certain short, curly haired chefs to the bed and spend some quality time snogging him.  
  
“You need to lock your door,” Dwalin calls back as he’s kicking off his shoes. “What if I was some crazy fan wanting to kidnap you and lock you in a kitchen until the next millennia?” Or bedroom. He’s got internet access, he (unfortunately) knows what some people are writing about his lover. Okay, so he can’t really blame them, but still.  
  
“Then you’d be sadly disappointed when I kicked the bucket after only 50 years or so. And it’s not like Beorn is going to let anyone he doesn’t know in here anyway.”  
  
“Maybe your _neighbours_ are crazy,” Dwalin argues, walking towards the bedroom. “Maybe-“  
  
The sight that meets him makes him stop as abruptly, as if he’d walked into an invisible wall.

“That one doesn’t have a bell,” Dwalin manages, eyes sweeping avidly over Bilbo.

“You’ll just have to find another way to make me make noise,” Bilbo says, stretching himself out a little self-consciously on the bed.  
  
The smaller man is completely naked, except for the broad leather collar wrapped around his neck.  
  
There is something very, inexplicably attractive about the dark leather next to Bilbo’s pale skin. And for a few moments longer Dwalin just stares as a slight flush works its way up Bilbo’s chest and face. And that blush? That really doesn’t do anything to lessen the pretty image his lover presents.  
  
“Are you going to just stand there and stare?” Bilbo asks after another moment, fidgeting slightly with the bed sheets, and it breaks Dwalin out of his spell.  
  
“Don't get me wrong,” he says, walking to stand right next to the bed, running a finger along the line of the collar and bending down to press a kiss to Bilbo’s skin just above it. Beneath his lips, Bilbo's pulse actually jumps and Dwalin just barely restrains himself from sinking his teeth into the pale neck. They might not really be hiding their relationship any longer, but there are better ways of declaring it then leaving bruises. “It looks fucking hot, but what use is it? Does it have one?”  
  
“I don't know,” Bilbo says, impatiently pulling at Dwalin's belt to get him to kneel on the bed. “But if the word leash comes out of your mouth I promise that you will regret it. Please get undressed, you took longer than I thought and I’m starting to feel cold.”  
  
“Sweet talker,” Dwalin murmurs, this time taking a kiss from Bilbo's lips. “And you _taste_ sweet, strawberries?”  
  
“There might be strawberries cupcakes in the pantry,” Bilbo says loftily as his clever fingers are unbuckling Dwalin's belt. “However, I can’t currently deny, nor confirm, such claims. I’m busy.”  
  
“So I see. I'm guessing you can breathe, but is it tight?” Dwalin asks, index finger briefly tracing the inside of the collar.  
   
“Mm, a bit. But not too tight. Mostly I can just feel it when I swallow. Oh shut it,” he adds when Dwalin waggles his eyebrows.  
  
“You know what would be pretty?” Dwalin asks after a brief consideration. He straddles Bilbo’s waist, making sure to keep most of his weight of the smaller man. “If you got matching cuffs and I held your hands like this.” Crossing Bilbo’s wrists together he then moves them to rest just over the nest of blond curls on the pillow. “And then you keep them like that while I suck you off.”  
  
The idea of Bilbo stretched out like that, bare except for the three thick black strips of leather, with flushed cheeks… squirming as Dwalin takes him into his mouth; as much from the blow job as from not being allowed to touch, now that is pretty indeed.  
   
Bilbo pulls impatiently against the grip Dwalin has on his wrist. “I’m not _pretty_ and you are not undressed. One of these things needs amending.”

“Maybe so,” Dwalin says thoughtfully, not bothering to argue Bilbo’s first claim because the rest of the world already agreed with him on that point (remember, Dwalin has internet access). “Not that I really _need_ to be naked to make you make all kinds of interesting noises, and that was the point of this, yeah?”

Seeing the dark look coming his way, Dwalin chuckles and releases his grip on Bilbo’s wrists before that look manages to translate itself into a threat. It’s a valid tactic, and the smaller man just gives him a half-hearted grumble before going to work on the buttons on Dwalin’s jeans. Meanwhile, Dwalin helpfully pulls off the T-shirt he’s wearing.  
  
“You’re not wearing underwear,” Bilbo exclaims, looking altogether too scandalized for someone wearing leather in bed, and Dwalin tells him as much.  
  
“It’s not like I’m about to go out in public,” Bilbo grumps, cheeks turning a slighter darker shade of pink.  
  
“And it’s not like I’m about to drop trou in public either,” Dwalin argues. “Fairly certain there’s a clause in my contract against such things.”  
  
“So that’s all that’s keeping you?” Bilbo asks innocently. “Remind me when you need to renegotiate with the channel. I’ll be sure to let the tabloids know.”

“Cheeky little bugger you are,” Dwalin says admiringly.  
  
“And no one will believe you if you tell them,” Bilbo says with a frankly angelic expression. “I’d like to thank my publicist, and my mmmph-“

Kissing Bilbo to keep him quiet isn’t maybe the right way of going about getting noises out of him, but it’s nice even so.  
  
-  
  
“So, we’re keeping that collar.” Dwalin runs a somewhat trembling finger down the once again uncovered skin of Bilbo’s neck. It looks so… naked now, without the leather to hide it, and Dwalin can feel his spent cock give an interested twitch, which is a valiant effort to be sure, but it’s just not going to happen. Not right away anyway.  
  
“Fucking hell,” the large man grumbles. “I'm going to get a hard-on just by looking at your throat from now.”  
  
Next to Dwalin, Bilbo shivers slightly at Dwalin’s touch and makes some encouraging sounding noises. He moulds himself further into Dwalin’s side, sighing contently.  
  
“Did I break you?” Dwalin asks, only half joking.  
  
On his quest to make Bilbo produce the previously mentioned interesting noises he _had_ gotten the man to come two times in a fairly short amount of time, and while Dwalin thought that his quest had been a success, perhaps it hadn’t been without consequences.  
  
More noise floats up from the slightly quivering, Bilbo-shaped pudding. Still happy sounding though, so Dwalin merely slings arm over Bilbo’s waist and pulls him closer still.  
  
“I think we should get the cuffs for you though,” Bilbo says after a while. A hand creeps around Dwalin’s wrist, and Bilbo’s fingers can’t _quite_ manage to circle it. “Yes, I agree,” Bilbo tells himself. “ _Definitely_ a good idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, this is a thing. 
> 
> Also, please forgive any and all grammar errors. I don't even know why I'm alternating tenses between the chapters.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set fairly soon after Chapter 1.

“So the lad's not actually your nephew?” Dwalin asked and dug his fork into the thin spaghetti that Bilbo hadn't called spaghetti but which still looked like spaghetti to Dwalin, if a bit thin. Still tasted good though, whatever it was.  
   
“Well no, I don't have any siblings. Drogo is…” Bilbo furrowed his forehead. “A cousin we can say. Though he's not _really_ as his grandfather and my grandfather were siblings. Second cousins I guess?” Bilbo suggested. “We don't really think about it much. I'm Uncle Bilbo to Frodo, and that's more than good enough for me. There are too many of us on the whole to keep track of just who is related to who.”

“Sounds nice.”

“You don't have a large family?”

“Not large enough to lose track of who is related to who.” Dwalin said with a shrug. “Though I also have cousins, four of them, who are not really cousins – so we've got that in common - as well a couple of cousins of the regular kind. And two have a family of their own and children, but that’s  it. And of course my brother. Not enough to lose track of.”

“Do you get to see them a lot?”  
  
“Not in a while,” Dwalin admitted. “I grew up in the same town as three of them; that’d be three of the cousins who are not really cousins. But then we all ended up doing different things with our lives and living in different places. Still get together when we can, but we all have fairly strict schedules for most part.”  
  
“Same with me and mine,” Bilbo sighed. “Well, in a way at least. I’m basically the only one who moved away from our hometown, so I guess it’s easier for me since I can just go back there.”  
  
Dwalin noticed how Bilbo hadn’t said, ‘go home’. Not that there was anything particularly strange about _not_ referring to the place you’d grown up in as your home once you’d moved, but the wistful look in Bilbo’s eyes seemed to indicate that there was more to the story.  
  
Though perhaps not the kind of details you asked for on a first date.  
  
Then again, Dwalin hadn’t been on a lot of first dates that meant coming to the other person’s home and having them cook for you either. And he’d never been invited to a date by having a PA hand him a copy of a recipe with an address and a time neatly written on the back followed by Bilbo's signature. (Somehow Dwalin knew that Bilbo’s handwriting would end up being ridiculously fancy. It just made sense.)

He wasn’t really complaining though. Whatever the opposite of complaining was, that was what he was doing.  
  
Though he had half-a mind to complain about the giant of a man who worked as doorman. Dwalin was not used to people who were tall enough to tower over him. He also wasn’t used to dealing with people pricklier than Thorin after some critic had left a less than glowing review for one of the hotels, but this Beorn person had Thorin beat.  
  
He’d stared at Dwalin for a solid minute after Dwalin had said that he was there to see Bilbo. And he probably would be staring still if Dwalin hadn’t texted Bilbo and asked if the guy at the door was deaf and/or thought he was one of the royal guards; the kind that just barely was allowed to blink while on duty.  
  
Seeing the giant practically melt when Bilbo phoned down to try and negotiate Dwalin’s release was… unexpected. And so was the fact that the guy called Bilbo pet names, however fitting Little Bunny may be. Not that Dwalin was jealous or anything. Nope. Because surely you didn’t go around calling a man you wanted to fuck Little Bunny. Right?  
  
After dinner came dessert and it was indeed dessert and not just a snog on the couch. (Which for the record, Dwalin would have been fine with. At least, that was before he’d actually _tasted_ the dessert.)  
  
After the first bite, Dwalin had to literally bite his tongue to keep from blurting out any premature marriage proposals.  
  
“What did you say this was called,” he asked, after swallowing another delicious spoon of pudding thing with berry thing on top.  
  
“It’s lemon panna cotta with blackberry granité,” Bilbo said, as if more than four words in that sentence made sense.  
  
Dwalin grunted. “It’s really good.”  
  
“There’s more in the kitchen,” Bilbo offered, and Dwalin had to work quite hard to remain seated and not go drop on one knee. Or just his knees period.  
  
Having three servings was perhaps not the most polite thing in the world, but Dwalin would like to see the man alive who could have resisted. As he licked the last of the pudding thing from the spoon he noticed Bilbo watching him with a slight flush on his face. And when Dwalin licked his lips, Bilbo's tongue briefly flicked over his own lips.  
  
“Thank you, that was delicious,” Dwalin said and tried not to let his smile morph into a leer. And not to make any comments about other things also looking delicious.  
  
“Hmm?” Bilbo asked distractedly. Then he realised that he’d been staring and his blush deepened.  “Oh, yes, you’re very welcome. I’m glad you liked it.”  
  
“I’d like to kiss you,” Dwalin said conversationally. “Would _you_ like that too?”  
  
Bilbo blinked, but to Dwalin’s delight he _didn’t_ blush further or look away, instead merely quirking an eyebrow. The blush might be cute as hell, but Dwalin much preferred people who weren’t afraid to admit what they did or did not want.

“I don’t know,” Bilbo said, in the same conversational tone of voice. “Would I?”  
  
Dwalin got to his feet, but instead of going around the table he simply leaned over it, and put two fingers beneath Bilbo’s jaw to tilt his head up for a better angle. The kiss unsurprisingly tasted of the dessert.  
  
“ _I_ liked it,” Dwalin murmured when they parted. “Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome.” The words fell with practiced ease from Bilbo’s mouth and Dwalin chuckled as he sat back down on the chair. And _now_ Bilbo was blushing again. “I mean, I liked it too.”  
  
“Good.” Dwalin grinned across the table, nonchalantly dragging a finger through the final specks of not-pudding left in the little bowl. “Always better when two people agree about things like that.”  
  
“Indeed,” Bilbo agreed, eyes tracking Dwalin’s finger as he popped it into his mouth.  
  
Dwalin’s grin got impossibly wider. He already looked forward to the second date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The not-spaghetti they are eating at the start is called Vermicelli.
> 
> Should I include a timeline of this somewhere, and if yes, any ideas on how to best go about it? Five chapters now, and the timeline is all over the place...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is hot, Dwalin makes things hotter, and there is a bag of frozen peas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after chapter 2. They live together, and this is the first summer in which they do so.

“If you touch me, I will kill you with my mind,” Bilbo warned as Dwalin entered the living room. “In fact, go away, you’re making the room hotter.”  
  
Dwalin blinked. He couldn’t actually see Bilbo, his voice came from the direction of the couch and the couch’s backrest was blocking Dwalin’s view of anyone lying on it, but he certainly sounded annoyed. Much more annoyed than Dwalin simply coming into a room should possibly have warranted. “Is that a compliment?” he asked hopefully.  
  
“It’s really not,” Bilbo moaned. “It’s hot, and since human beings give off heat, you are making it even hotter. So you should go someplace else, I was here first.”  
  
Dwalin refrained from pointing out that he had lived in the house for quite some time before meeting Bilbo, he had the feeling it would not be appreciated.  
  
It was in fact pretty hot, but not really abnormally so. Back in his twenties Dwalin had spent a few years in Australia, and down there this would have counted as a fairly temperate day, so things could be a lot worse. When you seriously started considering if it was possible to sleep inside your fridge and not suffocate, then it was hot.  
  
Ignoring, at least for now, his lover’s protests, Dwalin walked up to the couch.  
  
“It’s not really fair for you to be naked and moaning and then tell me I’m not even allowed to be in the room to enjoy it,” Dwalin complained, peering down at his indeed very naked lover who squirmed, one could even say writhed, against the couch, looking all sorts of touchable.  
  
“Kill you, with my mind,” Bilbo warned. “It’s too hot for anything else so I’ve evolved telekinesis. Fuck.”  
  
“You swore!” Dwalin said, immediately realising that he sounded like a shocked child, but it really was unusual to hear Bilbo use curse words beyond the occasional ‘damn it’.  
  
He claimed that too much time spent on daytime telly was to blame, but Dwalin knew better... and if it’d been revealed that Bilbo had been _born_ with a posh little waistcoat on, Dwalin would be the first one to say that he’d known it all along.  
  
“It’s hot,” Bilbo said, glaring up at him. “And this house does not have air conditioning.”  
  
“It’s from the 18th century,” Dwalin protested. “Of course it doesn’t have air conditioning.”  
  
“It has a dishwasher,” Bilbo argued. “They didn’t have those in the 18th century either.”  
  
“I didn’t have to wreck any walls to install that one, did I? And you could use a fan.”  
  
“The fan’s not working,” Bilbo moaned and arched his back, and really, this not-touching business, not fun in the least. “It’s probably overheated. Ah, the irony.”  
  
“What about the one in the bedroom?”  
  
“That’s not been working ever since someone kicked it over when he was drunk and thought that it was attacking him.”  
  
“You’d had just as much to drink,” Dwalin protested. And really, Bilbo had in fact matched him drink for drink, fuck knows where he put it considering that he was a hell of a lot smaller.  
  
“But I didn’t kick over any fans, did I?” Bilbo rolled his eyes, then moaned again. “It’s so hot.”  
  
“Cold shower?” That was beginning to be necessary for Dwalin as well, albeit for other reasons.  
  
“I had three already, they only work for so long.”  
  
Great, now he had the mental image of a wet, dripping Bilbo moaning in the shower. Hands sliding over slick skin and- Dwalin bit the inside of his check as a distraction.  
  
“Ice cubes?”  
  
“All gone.”  
  
Bilbo running ice cubes all over his body, shivering as one grazed a nipple which instantly pebbled.  
  
“Right,” Dwalin said. “I’m going to go take a shower.” And wank. “And when I’m done maybe we could relocate to somewhere that does have air conditioning?”  
  
“Do I have to get dressed? No, don’t answer that.”  
  
Dwalin grinned. “All I’m gonna say is that I’m not the one who’s going to be in deep shit with his PR people, should you walk around naked in public. Hell, I think my publicist would thank you for it. She seems to think that you doing weird shit is somehow good for my ‘image’.”  
  
Tauriel’s exact words had been something Dwalin couldn’t really remember, but the short of it had been that Bilbo making headlines was good for Dwalin’s ratings since they were now more or less a package deal. And Dwalin’s fans seemed to thrive on weird shit. He was still getting emails requesting him to do another episode that was weapon-themed. Who could have known that decorating with axes would be so popular.  
  
“I never do ‘weird shit’,” Bilbo protested, glaring up at Dwalin.  
  
“You were mugged on the subway by three overgrown thugs and you ended up stalling them long enough for the police to get there by offering them cooking tips. You find a ring on the sidewalk and it turns out to be a long lost heirloom to some creepy old lord with a severe attitude problem. You-“  
  
“Thank you, that’s enough.” Despite trying to look annoyed, Dwalin could see the corner of Bilbo’s mouth twitching. “Such a shame it was when that ring ended up accidentally being dropped into the sewers, think he’s found it yet?”  
  
“If I go and hold my hands in the freezer for a bit, can I touch you?”  
  
Bilbo raised an eyebrow and Dwalin leered at him. “You being naked, squirming _and_ devious is really testing my self-control here. But to my credit I was doing fairly well when it was only the first two.”  
  
“I guess we could try,” Bilbo said generously. “But remember; lethal telekinetic powers.”  
  
For the first time ever, a bag of frozen peas and a box of ice lollies ended up being involved while Dwalin had sex. But it was a much better solution than running back and forth to the kitchen, and Bilbo stubbornly opposed being carried and placed on the kitchen table.  
  
“Food goes on the table, not people!”  
  
But, the sound Bilbo made when Dwalin sucked his cock after just having sucked on an ice lolly? Entirely worth the brightly coloured stains on the carpet when Dwalin accidentally dropped it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frodo was terribly disappointed the next time he visited and there were no ice lollies left for him. Bilbo turned into awkward bunny when Frodo asked if they'd really eaten *all* of them. Dwalin offered him normal ice cream instead, but for some reason, there was no chocolate sauce.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin likes sucking cock. (And we're not talking about the bird. That would just be weird.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after chapter 1 and 5, before chapter 3.
> 
> If you haven't seen it already, you need to check out: http://archiveofourown.org/works/965364  
> That is an au of this au, a continuation of chapter 3 wherein Bilbo thinks that Thorin should do more than just admire Bilbo's trouser-less state, and Dwalin does *not* slap him over the head for it.
> 
> Or in other words: "Gay Naked Threesome Incestuous Three-way Drama"
> 
> YEAH BABY! This bunny first came to diemarysues who infected me and now I've sent it back to her for a second round (she's already written a Bilbo/Thorin separate story)  
> This bunny people, this is insistent little one.

Dwalin likes sucking cock. He likes having a dick in his mouth; the weight of it on his tongue, the slick, warm, smooth feel of it.  
  
He likes how he can make his partners moan and whimper and clutch at his head and squeeze their thighs around him as if they wanted to keep him there forever.  
  
He also likes holding their hips down and watching them strain towards him with these little useless, delicious, movements that never fails to make him want to keep them on the edge for as long as possible just so he gets to have _that_ for as long as possible.  
  
In light of this, Dwalin’s always had trouble understanding why ‘cocksucker’ is supposed to be an insult. He’d mentioned something about it to Dís once, just in passing and _not_ related to himself: because he was _not_ going to talk to his little cousin about his sex life, never mind that she was married and had two children (and oh dear god, the boys were almost teenagers now, when exactly had that happened?), and for his trouble he’d received a very long lecture about misogyny, perceived submission, redneck homophobia, and why too many people needed to be whacked on the head with something heavy.  
  
Dís hadn’t been all too clear on if the whacking would _help_ or if it was just something to ease her own frustration, but that was Dís for you.  
  
Regardless, what Dwalin took away from that lecture was that people were bloody stupid, so in other words: nothing new. Dwalin would never understand people anyway.  
  
But it was still annoying. For example, he can’t understand why some of the people he’s slept with seems to think that his desire to suck them off means that certain other things was given about what he likes, or does not like, to do in bed.  
  
Some people assumes he wants to do it just to make them come so that there would be no discussion about who was fucking who. That’s rather insulting in several ways, but mostly because it implied that he wouldn’t listen if they told him to stop.  
  
Some people thought it was a sign that he wanted to _get_ fucked, which fine, he did enjoy that as well, but when they got _smug_ about it.. that was damned annoying and not arousing in the slightest. And nor was being called a 'good boy'.

More than once Dwalin has expressed a wish to suck off a partner, and instead ended up being the one on the receiving end of the blowjob. Nothing wrong with getting sucked off either of course, but he didn’t like how it seemed to happen simply because the guy he was with didn’t want him to do anything he deemed as ‘submissive’.

As if there was something submissive about reducing another person to a whimpering little pile of shivers. And as if Dwalin couldn’t (shouldn’t) like other things than just sticking his cock into someone just because he was a large guy. People… Bloody shame they didn’t come with instruction manuals. Or at least a pause-button.

He just likes sucking cock. He also likes all manners of other things, so people thinking that they know everything about him just based on this one thing? Not the most enjoyable of experiences.  
  
It’s fucking ridiculous that he’s basically gotten a bloody complex about it. And ever since he started appearing on telly the assumptions people make have gotten worse. From men and women alike, and Dwalin just never knows what to do when a woman hits on him, and it's even worse when they look like they're literally going to throw themselves at his feet at any given moment.  
  
He’s not acting when he’s doing the show. That _is_ him doing and saying all those things, only, it’s somewhat a fixed value of him…  
  
They pick a clip of him yelling at someone who did something stupid, but they don’t show the bit where he sits the person down and tell them why they were being an idiot and how to go about _not_ killing themselves with an electrical saw. Unless he yells at them during that bit as well, which admittedly happens more than it probably should. And fine, that's television for you. He knows by now how it works, but shouldn't the viewers have gotten the memo as well?

Bilbo doesn’t really watch the show though. He barely recognised him when they met, and only after Dwalin introduced himself. This should be a good thing, or so Dwalin hopes. And hopefully people on the channel haven’t been talking about him to Bilbo either. Yeah, Dwalin’s not holding his breath on that one...  
  
-

The first time he and Bilbo seems to be taking things further than kissing and groping (Dwalin admits that this is an assumption that _he_ ’s making, but considering that Bilbo is unbuttoning Dwalin’s shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and clawing at his belt, while they’re trading hot, wet kisses… not to mention that they’ve ended up in Bilbo’s bedroom, well…) Dwalin contemplates _not_ offering to suck him off, just in case it’d lead to unwanted consequences.  
  
But he wants to, and he’d always been a believer of the ‘rip off the band-aid’ philosophy.  
  
(And really, that he’s even forced to consider this, it truly is ridiculous. Blowsjobs should not in any way be connected to anything that’s not fun and sexy and just nice.)

Bilbo’s a lot smaller than him and it could be possible his interest in Dwalin is mostly based on the that difference in their sizes and what that could mean. When Dwalin helped Bilbo carry about 50 pounds of groceries without complaining (did Bilbo have people secretly living with him? Or where the hell did all that food go?) he’d seen how the other man’s eyes swept along his muscles with a certain interest. And Bilbo has said flat out that he really likes Dwalin’s chest, and that’s also where his hands has kept migrating when things have gotten heated before.  
  
It wouldn’t be the first time some pretty little thing had been interested in being ‘dominated’ by the big, bad rude man. And those were usually the ones that ended up blowing him for some perfunctory minutes and then demanding that he’d fuck them. Been watching too much bad porn, Dwalin figures. Things were a lot more fun if you didn’t always follow the basic outline of kiss, blowjob, one finger, two fingers, fuck, orgasms, done.  
  
However… there’s nothing particularly submissive about the way Bilbo is racing to get Dwalin naked, so Dwalin hopes that Bilbo was not going to be like that. And Bilbo nothing about Bilbo's usual behaviour has pointed towards such a thing. Though, to be completely honest, Dwalin can probably live with it if his and Bilbo's opinions differed on this matter. And he means that as an long term thing and not just here and now. Bilbo is… Dwalin has never met anyone like him before. And sex with anyone is never perfect on the first few goes anyway.

So Dwalin tears his mouth away from Bilbo’s, with a lingering nibble on his bottom lip, for long enough to say:  
  
"I _really_ want to suck your dick." And he’s expecting all possible responses, he is, but also _hoping_ that Bilbo will not fall into the category that gets antsy when it turned out that Dwalin was interested in other things than just hiking someone’s legs over his shoulders and hammering away. (No pun intended.)

What he gets in reply is a heartfelt:

 _“_ Yes _, Please_.” And then Bilbo is kissing him again. That was a yes though, so Dwalin walks them towards the bed and with a grin that Bilbo can probably feel, and pushes Bilbo backwards to flop down on the bed. He probably shouldn’t find the panicked flailing cute, but well… he’s got heavier things on his conscious than that already.

“Come here, please” Bilbo demands, reaching out his arms and Dwalin’s grin widens. The chance that Bilbo dislikes when Dwalin is _not_ the one calling the shots is rapidly diminishing. He's just as stubborn and pushy and posh as ever, and Dwalin could not be more happy about it.  
  
“And I don’t know what you’re looked so pleased about,” Bilbo grumbles as he winds his arms around Dwalin’s neck.  
  
“Can’t you guess?” Dwalin asks, beginning to unbutton Bilbo’s shirt. It goes a little slower than it could have gone, because all that lovely pale skin is very distracting what with the way it’s just asking for Dwalin to kiss it. He holds back on leaving marks, but it’s _very_ tempting. Unlike he’s own chest Bilbo’s is almost completely hairless, just a tiny smattering of blond hairs, and his skin is so smooth.  
  
“I’m, ah, I’m beginning to have an idea,” Bilbo moans, hands stroking along Dwalin’s bare shoulders and arms. “But you’re wearing altogether too much clothes.”  
  
“Too much clothes to be pleased?” Dwalin asks, stopping to look up at Bilbo’s face.  
  
“Too much clothes, period,” Bilbo says. “Trousers and pants off, please.”  
  
“Turnabout is fair play then,” Dwalin says, and runs his hand over Bilbo’s cloth covered thigh. “You should start, set a good example for me.”  
  
Bilbo raises an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who looks like he’s an escaped Playgirl model, so if, _oh_ -“

Dwalin hides his grin by rubbing his cheek against Bilbo’s crotch again.  
“I can’t wait to get my mouth on you.”  
  
“By all means,” Bilbo says a bit faintly. “But could you undress first, please?” he adds, looking more determined. “Or I’d be more than happy to help. I just, would like to see you.”  
  
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” Dwalin offers as he kneels up on the bed and unbuttons his jeans.  
  
“You did not just say that,” Bilbo protests. “I’m not sure if I can continue this now.” But given the way Bilbo is wriggling out of the open shirt, Dwalin’s prepared not to put too much stock in this claim.  
  
There’s no way to get his trousers and pants off in any remotely dignified way while kneeling on a bed, so Dwalin gets to his feet, (on the floor mind you,) and quickly pulls them down, getting rid of his socks as well (and if anyone figures out something to make that action look less stupid, Dwalin would love to know) and leaves it all in a pile on the floor as he’s crawling back onto the bed.  
  
“Eyes up here,” he says teasingly to Bilbo when the smaller man seems to be distracted.  
  
“Yes, quite,” Bilbo agrees without looking up. “You are incredibly gorgeous. And you have many tattoos. More than I thought.”  
  
The tattoos on Dwalin’s arms are easy enough to spot when he’s dressed in anything with short sleeves, but the rest are usually hidden since he doesn’t usually venture out in public without a shirt. There’s been some blurry photos of him in the rags without one, since he doesn’t always bother when working outside in the, supposed, privacy of his own garden, but for most part the tattoos is something that still feels private to him. It’s something he doesn’t share with just anyone.  
  
“I feel an unexpected need to lick your tattoos,” Bilbo informs him, hazel eyes dark and oddly serious.  
  
“Wait your turn,” Dwalin rumbles as he unbuttons Bilbo’s trousers as he’s started to despair about Bilbo doing it himself. Not that it’s not flattering, the way he can almost feel Bilbo’s eyes on him as a physical caress, but it won’t make clothes come off any faster.  
  
“There are other people here waiting to do it?” Bilbo asked innocently. “I’m not sure how I feel about thaaaaat.”  
  
Dwalin has placed his hand on the open V of Bilbo’s trouser, and he carefully rubs along the half-hard line of Bilbo’s cock, only the thin fabric of his underwear between them now.  
  
“Come on, lift your hips up,” Dwalin prompts, and when Bilbo complies Dwalin is quick to pull off his trousers and underwear in one go.  
  
“I’m having the urge to make a joke about bananas and getting peeled,” Bilbo remarks, but Dwalin is a bit distracted.  
  
Bilbo’s cock is plump and flushed and entirely lovely. Not entirely hard yet though, so Dwalin could probably manage to fit most of him into his mouth at first.  
  
Or maybe he should start slow. Take his time to enjoy it. Licking at the head and along the underside before he’d take Bilbo into his mouth and-  
   
Yeah. Condoms…

Dwalin has to swallow before speaking as his mouth has already begun to water.

“Do you have any condoms?”  
  
“I, yes. Wait just a second.” Bilbo stretches out his arm, scrambling to get the drawer on his bedside table open.

“Don't jump to any conclusions,” Bilbo warns him as he all but throws a pack at Dwalin. “But you might want check the date on those.”

“We're good,” Dwalin says after checking.

“Yeah?” Somehow that sounds like Bilbo’s not just asking about the condoms. So Dwalin, a bit regretfully, (but only a little) crawls up the bed to give Bilbo a kiss.

“Yeah,” he breathes against Bilbo’s lips.

They kiss for long enough that Dwalin’s lips feel puffed and used when Bilbo eventually pulls back. Which is fine, cause that's how they're going to end up in a bit anyway.  
  
More surprising is that he finds himself flat on his back with Bilbo straddling his hips, without really knowing how and when that happened.  
  
“So, not to be rude,” Bilbo says, sounding in fact entirely too polite for someone grinding his erection into Dwalin’s thigh, rubbing up against Dwalin's own hard-on at the same time. “But you were in the middle of something?”

Dwalin slides his hands from where they were holding Bilbo’s hips to trace his sides and his belly, petting at the thin trail of blond hair running from Bilbo’s lower belly to his crotch. That earns him a pleased little shudder so he does it again.

“I was only getting started,” Dwalin grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The verb tenses were really bitchy in this bit, so yeah...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat is out of the bag. Or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after Chapter 3, before Chapter 4.
> 
> (No, despite the summary this has not turned into animal!fic)

When Dwalin’s phone rang and the screen proclaimed it to be Tauriel he didn’t exactly jump for joy.  
  
It wasn’t that he disliked Tauriel, compared to Smaug she was a bloody marvel; and he rarely felt like punching her. Hell anyone would feel like punching the person who regularly made you go to interviews and _not_ punch the people there. It was bloody projection or something. But despite that he liked the girl, most of the time.  
  
But Tauriel calling him at eight pm on a Saturday, that just couldn’t be good.  
  
“Aren’t you going to answer?” Bilbo asked, peeking up from behind the couch. Behind him the film they’d been watching was still going, judging by the music someone was about to be murdered horribly. It felt rather fitting.  
  
With a sigh Dwalin thumbed the accept call button.  
  
“Tauriel.”  
  
“Sorry to disturb you,” Tauriel said, sounding anything but sorry. “But there’s something you need to know.”  
  
“Should I sit down?” Dwalin asked while walking back to the couch. “Put you on speaker so Bilbo will know what shocking news killed me?”  
  
“You are so funny,” Tauriel said in a voice entirely void of inflection. “You are the funniest man alive. I spend every waking moment thanking the gods that I am fortunate enough to work for you. You are-“  
  
“Fine, I’m sorry,” Dwalin grumbled, slumping down next to Bilbo. “What d’ya want?”  
  
“A little birdy who had been speaking with another little birdy just told me that tomorrow’s edition of The Sun will have a story on Bilbo and a guy from the same network, a guy he has apparently turned gay. And a guy who he's been seeing for a while now. I hear there might be pictures.”  
  
“Of course, it wouldn't be any fun without pictures,” Dwalin gritted out. “Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker after all.” He nudged Bilbo with his shoulder as he hunted for the right button. “You’ll want to hear this.”  
  
“Hello, Tauriel!” Bilbo said pleasantly when the little beep from the phone declared that the right button had indeed been found. Despite his cheerful greeting, a small frown had settled in the middle of his forehead.  
  
“Bilbo,” Tauriel said, sounding a hell of a lot more amiable than she’d done when talking to Dwalin. “I’m sorry for interrupting your evening.”  
  
“I’m sure you have a good reason?”  
  
“Tell him what you told me,” Dwalin demanded.  
  
“Not only funny, but so _polite_ ,” Tauriel murmured. “Bilbo, do you realise how lucky you are? No, I take that back,” she added before Bilbo could reply. “You’ll just say something adorable and make me want to make stuffed toys that look like you.”  
  
“Um…” Bilbo looked at Dwalin for help, but Dwalin just shrugged. Tauriel was damned good at her job, and you’d probably have to be a little crazy to put up with someone like him in the first place, not to mention trying to portray him as an interesting human being.  
  
“Anyway,” Tauriel said. “I was just telling Dwalin that it seems your privacy will get a little less private tomorrow. Someone at The Sun seems to have clued in. There’ll be an article about you and the guy who you’ve ‘seduced to the pink side of life’?”  
  
“Pink?” Bilbo asked, wrinkling his nose.  
  
“That’s what you’re taking away from this?” Dwalin asked. "Not how I was actually gay before meeting you?"  
  
“But I don’t even wear pink,” Bilbo protested. “’Rainbow side of life’ would at least have made more sense in a homosexual context, but pink?”  
  
“You have a pink shirt,” Dwalin pointed out.  
  
“One pink shirt does not a life make,” Bilbo huffed.  
  
“Guys,” Tauriel cut in. “You are welcome to have your domestic later, but now I’d like for Dwalin to tell me how he wants me to handle this.”  
  
“Aren’t I paying you to know how to handle these things?” Dwalin said, wrapping his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders. The other man was still grumbling a little about not even having that shirt now, it had been sacrificed to the gods of grease stains, but he still tucked himself into Dwalin’s side like he belonged there. Which of course he did, that was only getting more and more obvious with each passing day. And no fucking tabloid was going to get to ruin that.  
  
“Sure, but I’m not being paid enough to read minds. Do you want to make a statement, lay low, do an interview – as if, deny… And I’d like to know what Bilbo’s team is going to do.”  
  
“I’d better call Dori,” Bilbo murmured, not actually getting up to do so. Instead he turned his head to look up at Dwalin. “We’re still going with the ‘try and make everyone feel guilty about digging into our private life’ plan?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dwalin sighed. “Not that I really think it’ll work. But at least this has the benefit of getting to see you give people who are not me mournful looks.”  
  
“I’m not the one who can make someone feel guilty for not baking cookies each and every day,” Bilbo protested.  
  
“Domestic later, call Dori now,” Tauriel prompted. “And then have him call me. Dwalin?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Don’t eat too many cookies, I don’t want to answer questions about Bilbo knocking you up if you get a belly bump.” Then she hung up.  
  
“Still a hell of a lot better than Smaug,” Dwalin mused.  
  
-  
  
The next morning Tauriel called again, way too fucking early.  
  
“So we might have jumped to conclusions last night.”  
  
“ _We_?” Dwalin growled, then he lowered his voice, because Bilbo had managed to sleep through the phone ringing. “Hang on, I’m getting out of bed.”  
  
“I’m guessing that Bilbo’s not far, put me on speaker instead.”  
  
“Bilbo is still _sleeping_ ,” Dwalin said. “And I don’t see any reason why he shouldn’t be allowed to do so. Especially if you were wrong about the damned rag running an-“  
  
“I didn’t say I was wrong,” Tauriel interrupted. “Merely that I’d jumped to conclusions.”  
  
Pulling the door shut behind him Dwalin frowned at his phone. “So are they or aren’t they doing an article on me and Bilbo?”  
  
“They’re not doing an article about you and Bilbo,” Tauriel said, but Dwalin didn’t have time to relax before she continued. “They’re doing an article on Bilbo and his ‘big gay love affair’ with Bofur Broadbeam.”  
  
“They’re BLOODY doing WHAT now!?”  
  
Bilbo did not sleep through _that_.  
  
-  
  
“Do you know what the good thing is about this?” Bilbo asked as they were looking at damned newspaper (that was too good of a word for it) splayed open on Dwalin’s kitchen table. “Bofur is wearing a pink shirt, which means that they’re not blaming the pink thing on me.”  
  
Dwalin resisted the urge to thump his head against the table. “I think it says good things about me that I’m looking at photos of you without a shirt, embracing Bofur, and I’m not jumping to conclusions. What your obsessions with pink says about you, I have no bloody clue.”  
  
“I’m not ‘embracing’ him,” Bilbo frowned. “I was just thanking him for being such a good sport. They made us redo the gingerbread cookies _three_ times before they deemed them festive enough. Even Aragorn looked like he wanted to strangle someone. Poor Bofur, but he was very cheerful about the entire thing.”  
  
“Dare I ask about the shirt?”  
  
Bilbo blushed. “You should be happy I took it off. There was a small incident with a bread sauce during clean-up. And I don’t even want to know what they would have written if I’d been covered in white stains.”  
  
Dwalin shook his head. “Fucking hell.”  
  
A small hand touched his. “You’re not, I mean, are you upset with me?”  
  
“For hugging a friend while some piss-ant with a cell phone lurked in the background?” Dwalin sighed. “Of course not, it’s not like you knew this would happen.”  
  
Bilbo’s fingers slipped between his own. “I’m glad.”  
  
Dwalin glared at him half-heartedly. “You shouldn’t be happy I’m not an idiot.” Then he frowned. “I think that came out wrong.”  
  
“But I am _very_ happy you’re not an idiot,” Bilbo said with a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You are very good-looking, but if you’d turned out to be unable to string a sentence together I think I would have settled for feeding you and then just entertained lurid fantasies of you reading Shakespeare.”  
  
“I _don’t_ read Shakespeare,” Dwalin said flatly.  
  
“But you _could_ ,” Bilbo teased. “Let me keep my fancies.” Looking down at the paper again Bilbo winced. “This though, this is horrid. They actually made a pun about a Yule Log and stuffing. Just, no.”  
  
Dwalin felt a smile tug at his lips. “You are bloody weird, you know that?”  
  
Bilbo smiled and squeezed his hand. “For that you owe me a kiss. And another one for waking me by shouting loud enough to also wake the neighbours.”  
  
“I wasn’t that loud,” Dwalin muttered.  
  
“Uh-huh,” Bilbo said unconvinced. “Kisses now, please.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Dwalin teased. “I think I’m the one owed a kiss, or several. Having to watch my lover in a clinch with another man.”  
  
Bilbo rolled his eyes. “If you think that’s funny, imagine how much Bofur is going to tease me. The next time I’ll do an interview on his show he’s going to- I don’t even know, but I know I’ll end up looking like a overripe tomato.”  
  
“I like tomatoes,” Dwalin murmured and Bilbo snorted.  
  
“You did not just try and use that as some sort of pick-up line.”  
  
“I don’t need pick-up lines,” Dwalin protested. “You were just asking me for kisses.”  
  
“It’s a catch 22. Keep using pick-up lines and you’ll need them.”  
  
“Now that was a good book,” Dwalin said approvingly. "Funny, and not just page after page of drivel."  
  
“And that’s a better pick-up line,” Bilbo nodded. "The bit about you liking Catch 22 I mean. But you're deducted points for calling Shakespeare drivel."  
  
“So bloody weird.”  
  
“Please shut-up and kiss me before Dori calls me and yells. He's always much to gleeful whenever I'm doing press and end up on Bofur's show, I think he has a crush.”  
  
"I didn't think Bofur was gay?" Dwalin asked, curling his hand in Bilbo's locks and pulling slightly to make him lean forward.  
  
"Oh, I don't think he is. But neither is Dori, so they might be able to work something out. Like one of those things where two negatives cancel each other out."  
  
Dwalin lightly pressed his lips against Bilbo's. "Hmm," he murmured. "Bilbo?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You are so fucking weird."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadly (or to many people’s amusement) the last chapter wasn’t the only time someone thought Bilbo had a secret lover (who wasn’t Dwalin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after chapter 8 before chapter 4
> 
> Thank/Blame Syxx for this. (and remember that this entire plot bunny wasn't mind to begin with *points at diemarysues*)

“The car is here!” Dwalin called as he stepped into Bilbo’s flat. “And it’s been here for the last ten minutes. Didn’t you see my text?”  
  
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” came Bilbo’s voice from his bedroom. Dwalin took a moment to imagine those words and Bilbo’s bedroom in a rather different set of circumstances. It was a pretty picture. “I’m just- have you seen my handkerchiefs?”  
  
“You use handkerchiefs? You _have_ handkerchiefs” This was news to Dwalin. Waistcoats; yes, fairly ridiculous red velvet coat; yes, but _hankies_?  
  
There was a slightly too long silence. “I just need one for the pocket to my suit jacket. You said I should bring something fancy to wear.”  
  
Dwalin leaned back against the hallway wall. “What I said was that _I_ needed to bring something fancy. Trousers that aren’t jeans and without stains and holes. You’re always dressed fancy-like.”  
  
“I’m not-“  
  
“Waistcoats,” Dwalin pointed out. “And apparently handkerchiefs.”  
  
This time the silence was a bit sulking. “I _like_ you wearing fancy things,” Dwalin said, pushing away from the wall and starting to walk down the hallway to Bilbo’s bedroom. “And if you’re bringing some fancy suit that needs a bloody handkerchief it’s not like I’ll _mind_ as long as _I’m_ not the one looking like penguin. I’ll just look forward to getting to take it off you later.”  
  
He wondered if fancy meant black. Bilbo looked good in black, it made his pale skin almost glow. Of course, he would look even prettier not wearing anything at all, spread out on the disgustingly large bed that Thorin was sure to have in all the hotel rooms.  
  
“You’ll only get to undress me if you promise me all buttons will remain attached to the shirt,” Bilbo said, not looking back as Dwalin entered the bedroom. The blond was currently bent over, peering down into the bottom drawer of his dresser, and Dwalin took another moment to enjoy the view. And then another.  
  
He wondered, a bit distractedly, what Bilbo’s arse would look like in a nice pair of tight jeans. With two conveniently placed pockets for him to slide his hands into. And a brass button to undo, a zipper to slight down and-  
  
“Dwalin?” Bilbo asked over his shoulder.  
  
Oh, right.  
  
“Your clothes have much too many buttons anyway,” Dwalin informed his lover. “And they’re damned small.”  
  
“And they _like_ to stay attached to cloth,” Bilbo said as he closed the drawer. With a sigh he then straightened up and turned towards Dwalin. “I give up, I can’t find them. I think they’re gone on an adventure and left me behind.”

“Thorin owns the damned hotel, it’s not like he’ll throw you out if you’re missing a handkerchief.”  
  
“But he’d throw you out for wearing jeans with holes?”  
  
Dwalin snorted and reached out to pull Bilbo close enough to steal a kiss. “No, but he’d pointedly leave clothes in our room for me to change into and refuse to let me have any room service until gave into his outrageous demands. My cousin is something of a snob at times. Didn’t you see the coat he was wearing when you met him? Probably cost him a few hundred quid.”  
  
“Darling, that was a Belstaff, it probably cost him close to a thousand.”

“I think you just proved my point,” Dwalin said, tilting Bilbo’s face up for another kiss. “Mmm, can we stay here instead? I’m beginning to think this vacation thing is overrated.”

“I was promised a hot tub,” Bilbo said, wrapping his arms around Dwalin’s neck. “My flat do not have a hot tub. It doesn’t even have a bath.”  
  
“I could blow you in the shower?” Dwalin offered hopefully, letting his hands slip down Bilbo’s back until they cupped his pretty arse. He hummed happily as each cheek made him a perfect handful. “Would that make things better?”  
  
“You can do that once we get back,” Bilbo said and squirmed a little. “Now, we should get going before the poor driver thinks that we’re lost. And before we miss our flight.”  
  
“It’s gonna be hard-“ Dwalin paused meaningfully. “Keeping my hands to myself on the plane.”  
  
“Well if you want to be the one to give Dori a heart attack, please don’t keep them to yourself.” Bilbo smiled up at him, a little shyly. “I was thinking, maybe it’s time that people found out about us. I’m not saying that I mind the privacy, but it would be nice to hold your hand and not worry about whether there’s photographers nearby or not.”  
  
“I could blow you in the airplane restroom?” Dwalin offered. “If people see me going in after you that should clear things up.”  
  
“Dori, heart attack,” Bilbo said pointedly. “Not to mention that we probably wouldn’t fit. And-” Bilbo’s clever fingers stroked over Dwalin’s back. “It’d be nice, to have this weekend just for us, without having Dori and Tauriel calling us about press releases. And that’s a given if we make a scene.”  
  
“I’m not sure if you’re trying to talk me into something, or out of it,” Dwalin complained.  
  
“Maybe – after this weekend - we could stop being so careful. I’m not saying we should call Bofur and tell everyone live on his show, though he _has_ been telling me that we should do this as a favour to his ratings, but we could start going out together. As something more than friends. And if people would already begin to assume something based on the fact that we’ll be on a plane together… that would be all right too Is that-“ Bilbo looked up at Dwalin all big hazel eyes. “Is that okay for you?”  
  
The only thing Dwalin wasn’t okay with was the very fact that other people would even _care_ what his relationship with Bilbo was or wasn’t.  
  
“So is that still a no on the airplane restroom idea?” When Bilbo sighed Dwalin snorted and rubbed his chin on the top of the smaller man’s head. “Tauriel has been dropping hints that we should let ‘the public’ know. I think she’s just tired of waiting for a possible scandal. That or she’s bored.”  
  
“Yes, but what do _you_ think?” Bilbo prompted.  
  
“Whatever you want is fine,” Dwalin said. “No, really, I don’t mind not having to be the topic of conversation for people who don’t even know us, but I also wouldn’t mind getting to touch you in public.”  
  
“Please don’t bring up the restroom thing again,” Bilbo said drily, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  
  
“We _really_ need to get going now,” Dwalin said regretfully and loosened his grip on his lover. “But by the way, I’m not filming anything next week. So if you’re up to public displays of whatever as we’re heading back, I’m up for it.”  
  
Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “Avoiding the question of what you mean by ‘public displays of whatever’, what does it matter if you’re working or not?”  
  
“If I don’t need to be anywhere I can just stay at home and let Tauriel handle all the questions,” Dwalin grinned. “She secretly likes _all_ this publicity crap;  any publicity is good publicity and all that. And if we make some headlines while still at the hotel I’m sure Thorin would appreciate it.  
  
Bilbo’s other eyebrow went up and Dwalin shrugged. “The last big headlines connected to Erebor Hotels was when  that bloody popstar kid threw up all over the receptionist. We’d be an improvement.”  
  
“Right,” Bilbo said as he lifted his bag. “Shall we go then?”  
  
-  
  
Dwalin had expected Thorin to meet them as they checked in. That was the entire point of them going to exactly _this_ hotel after all, that Thorin would be there so they could meet and pretend that it hadn’t been a month since they last saw each other and how much that sucked balls.  
  
Apart from Balin, Dwalin saw much too little of his family. He needed to go visit Dís and Víli and the kids as well, and Glóin and his family. Kids grew up much too damned fast. Perhaps he’d do that in the coming week. That was, unless the bloody tabloids caught the scent of ~~blood~~ news, because that was not something he wanted to bring with him.

They ended up not seeing Thorin at all until a couple of hours after checking in.  
  
Bilbo had unpacked (fussy little thing that he was, who cared about unpacking when you were only staying two nights) and fallen either in love or lust with the hot tub in their suite.  
  
He hadn’t actually tried it, because apparently it was ‘silly’ to take a bath when they would be going out for dinner soon; hopefully with Thorin as that was what they had planned, but there had been fondling and dreamy sighs. If he found Bilbo rubbing off against it, there would be questions.  
  
Dwalin had just been about to take a quick shower (and conveniently join Bilbo who was already in the shower) when someone knocked on the door to Dwalin’s room.  
  
For the sake of not having to start out their weekend by answering questions about their relationship, Dwalin and Bilbo didn’t share a room. Not technically anyway, because while they each had their own room number, bedroom and mini-fridge (a classy mini-fridge of course, hidden away in the wooden panelling) they shared a bathroom (with the previously mentioned hot tub) and a living room.  
  
When Dwalin opened the door and saw that it was his cousin he was about to rag Thorin for being too much of a workaholic to say hi to his family, but he didn’t really have a chance.  
  
“Is Bilbo in your room? He didn’t answer when I tried his door.”  
  
“And hello to you too,” Dwalin said drily. “I think you have to stop complaining that I’m the rude bastard now. What do you want with Bilbo? While he has set his designs on the hot tub it’s not like he’s going to be able to pocket it when we leave.”  
  
“What?” Thorin looked confused. “No, I- there’s a bit of an emergency.”  
  
“Requiring Bilbo?” Dwalin stepped back and waved Thorin into the room. “Have you forgotten that he’s a chef and not a doctor?”  
  
Thorin looked a little uncomfortable as he came inside. “We’re having a bit of problem in the kitchens actually.”  
  
Dwalin scowled and crossed his arms. “We’re here on vacation, not so Bilbo can _work_ , Thorin. I know the word vacation isn’t something you hear a lot, but-”  
  
“I know,” Thorin said, holding up his hands. “I know. But I’d really appreciate it if he would consider it. My head chef left, together with my sous chef. Apparently they’re eloping, getting married. I don’t know. But I do know that in two hours I’m going have to have a dinner ready for a pair presidents whose countries do not particularly like each other. And then there is a midnight…” Thorin ran a hand down his face. “I don’t even remember what they told me, a midnight _something_ that requires food, and if the third world war break out because the food was _not_ a good enough distraction from a few decades, or thirty, of bad blood, I’m not sure I-“  
  
“Hey now,” Dwalin said, holding up his hands. Thorin had almost been babbling. He never did that. “So to sum it up, the fate of the world rests on Bilbo cooking? Aren’t there any other chefs in this city?”  
  
“Not any that actually satisfy the criteria of being _here,_ at the hotel. I tried, but we couldn’t find anyone who was available and competent enough. And _two_ hours to dinner, Dwalin, that’s not a lot of time. Especially not if I have to fly someone here.”  
  
Before Bilbo had entered his life, two hours had been what Dwalin had spent on food per week maybe, but it didn’t seem like Thorin would be interested in hearing that at the moment.  
  
“I’ll go get him,” Dwalin sighed. “You, try and calm down.”  
  
-  
  
Bilbo, always being too fucking nice for his own good, agreed to help Thorin prevent a third world war. Not that Dwalin _minded_ the prevention of such a thing even if he thought that war was a huge load of fucking hyperbole from Thorin’s side. The real problem was that Bilbo really was too damned nice at times.  
  
It was good that Dori was such an uptight bastard or else Bilbo would constantly flit about the country doing everything that people ever asked of him.  
  
Dwalin sighed as he sat down on the bed. Which he would now lie down in completely alone as Bilbo was busy saving Thorin’s ass, and possibly (but not probably) the world as they knew it.  
  
This was not going according to plan.  
  
A few minutes later a thought occurred to Dwalin. How was it that Bilbo could say no when Dwalin asked him to make more cookies, but said yes when it came to things like this. Life just wasn’t fair.  
  
-  
  
When Dwalin woke up the next morning it was with an armful of sleeping Bilbo, so apparently the third world war had been prevented, or at least Bilbo had gotten away before the fighting had begun.

Or perhaps everyone had died already and this was the afterlife, because there were a lot worse things that Dwalin could imagine than spending the rest of forever like this. Especially since not _all_ parts of Bilbo seemed to be asleep.

“I’m not actually asleep,” an apparently awake Bilbo murmured, and perhaps there had been a nuclear war or something, because where else would the mindreading capabilities have come from. Dwalin had always admired that Wolverine fellow. Perhaps…  
  
“How did you know what I was thinking about?” Dwalin asked.  
  
“Your hand is wrapped around certain parts of me,” Bilbo pointed out without opening his eyes, "-but you’re not actually doing anything. So either your hands just felt empty, or you’re wondering if I’m awake or not."  
  
“Do you know what I’m wondering now?” Dwalin asked, giving Bilbo’s cock a light squeeze.  
  
“I can guess,” Bilbo said with a yawn, blinking sleepily up at Dwalin who had raised himself up on one elbow.  
  
“I was thinking, do _you_ think I can blow you in the hot tub without drowning?”  
  
Bilbo blinked. “ _That_ would not have been my guess.”  
  
-

They didn’t really have to worry about someone seeing them together that weekend, because apart from going to lunch and dinner with Thorin (both having food that Bilbo didn’t have to make as Thorin had managed to find a replacement for his runaway chefs), they didn’t really end up leaving their rooms. Or Dwalin’s bed.  
  
Whoever had created the ‘Do Not Disturb’-sign deserved a Nobel Prize of some sort.

-  
  
“Again, thank you,” Thorin said warmly to Bilbo as they were checking out. “I don’t know how I can repay you. Especially since you’ve already turned down my offers to actually pay you.”  
  
“Just promise that the next time we visit, no one will be running away to get married,” Bilbo said with a smile. “And we’ll keep this between us, Dori dislikes when I end up making, and I quote ‘public appearances’ without telling him first. I was just here on vacation. No cooking was done by me what so ever.”  
  
Dwalin may have grumbled at that, because this was letting Thorin get away much to easily, and Bilbo may have elbowed him. Thorin just looked thoughtful.  
  
“If you wanted, I would be perfectly happy offering you an actual job. I’m sure I can match your current salary.”  
  
Dwalin narrowed his eyes and glared at his cousin. Who did Thorin think that he was, offering Bilbo a job like that.. A good job. Oh, fine, but still, if Bilbo went back to a normal job, they would see each other a lot less.  
  
Especially considering that the only hotel Thorin owned in their town wasn’t really up to Bilbo’s standard of cooking. He would probably have to move.  
  
“Thank you,” Bilbo smiled up at Thorin and Dwalin braced himself. “But I’m very happy with my current job. Maybe- I could check with my publicist and maybe we can do a show at one of your hotels some time? I did love the kitchens here. ”

Dwalin hadn’t expected Thorin to be upset, but he also hadn’t expected his cousin to break out into an actual smile and _hug_ Bilbo. A little surprised Bilbo’s arms slowly came up to wrap as far as he could reach around Thorin’s back. When Thorin whispered something in his ear Bilbo blushed, and Dwalin’s scowl returned.  
  
“Oh don’t,” Bilbo admonished when he turned and saw Dwalin’s look. “He just said-“ Bilbo nudged his shoulder into Thorin’s arm. “That I’m the best person you’ve ever dated.”  
  
Now it was Thorin’s turn to flush slightly and Dwalin smirked. “Well, he’s not wrong.”  
  
-  
  
When Tauriel called him the next day Dwalin half-expected it to be about him and Bilbo. While there _hadn’t_ been an airplane restroom visit, and while he hadn’t managed to convince Bilbo that no one would see if he got Bilbo off as long as he had a blanket in his lap (and if someone would see, they surely wouldn’t tell Dori) what had happened on the flight was that Bilbo had spent the duration of it sleeping on Dwalin’s shoulder, with Dwalin’s arm curled around him.  
  
But no, that was not what Tauriel wanted to talk about.  
  
“Apparently the internet is saying that Bilbo is dating your cousin Thorin,” Tauriel told Dwalin as he picked up the phone. No hello. And they thought that _he_ was the rude one.  
  
Then the actual meaning of the words he was hearing sunk into Dwalin’s mind.  
  
“They’re saying that you introduced them. And there’s several nice photos of them hugging quite closely and your cousin smiling. Are we sure that they’re not actually sleeping together? I have to admit I don’t remember seeing your cousin smiling before.”  
  
“Why am I paying you again?” Dwalin murmured.  
  
“Technically you’re not, it’s the production company,” Tauriel said smartly.

-  
  
When Bilbo found out he just buried his hands in his face and groaned. “I’ll never be able to go on Bofur’s show again. I’ll spontaneously explode from embarrassment.”  
  
“At least this time Thorin will actually believe that it’s not true right away,” Dwalin mused. After the thing where Bofur had been named as Bilbo’s secret lover, Thorin had actually called Dwalin and been rather rude until Dwalin had informed him that he of all people shouldn’t believe what he read in gossip rags. And then he'd made him apologize to a confused Bilbo.  
  
This was probably karma. Or justice. Or something like that. “Or… could it be that you don’t want to work for him because you’re already having an affair?”  
  
“Do shut-up,” Bilbo said, still hiding behind his hands. “I wonder if telling people about us would make these things better or worse. Because I’d rather not have things like this happen and be accused of cheating on you at the same time.”  
  
“I'm only teasing,” Dwalin murmured, gathering the blond in for a hug.  
  
“I know,” Bilbo said into Dwalin’s shirt. “We’re not even going to have to tell people about us are we? We can just let someone upload a photo of us hugging on the internet and that will be it. It’s worked twice, so third time’s the charm for factual accuracy?”

-  
  
As things turned out, they didn’t even have to upload a photo themselves...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooo, cliffhanger. Part of the next bit is written. We'll see what I can do tomorrow. I want to write the next chappie of "Of Dwarfs..." as well...
> 
> Also, me and diemarysues are doing a thing, so if you happen to see another story which starts out in the same way, that’s that thing. (Not posted yet as I’m posting this but time is relative on the interwebs)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The secret is out. (Dwalin has no pants on)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one.

When the cat finally crawled out of the bag it couldn't be blamed on the tabloids. Nor on anything Dwalin and Bilbo did in public places.

Rather it was Balin's fault.  
   
Or the Internet's, but Dwalin couldn't glare at the Internet hence Balin got to shoulder the blame.  
  
What grown man couldn’t keep fucking track of his fucking phone? Oh, take one of his books and put it back in the wrong bookshelf and he’d notice within two seconds of you doing so, even if he wasn’t even in the bloody room, but when he leaves his phone on the damned _bus_ , he won’t notice until pictures of his brother cuddling in a couch with a certain chef was all over fucking Twitter or Tweeter or whatever the fuck that thing’s called.

Dwalin should have bloody well known that those pictures would come back to bite him in the ass, but Bilbo had looked so damned cute and rumpled that he hadn’t had the heart to tell Balin to delete them. And it was possible that he’d asked Balin to send him some of the photos, but to be fair, if Dwalin lost _his_ phone, couch cuddles wouldn’t be the _biggest_ problem, enough said about that.  
  
(Maybe he _should_ delete those photos…)

Dwalin hadn’t expected that they would be left alone forever, and he had agreed with Bilbo that it was about time they stopped pretending that they were just friends, but…

What he hadn’t expected was that it’d be such a big thing. Didn’t people have anything better to do? He was going to have to stay off the entire Internet until they stopped this madness.  
  
Where was a royal scandal when you needed one to shove all other news under the carpet? So until that happened, he would continue to glare at Balin any chance he got, because as previously mentioned, he couldn’t glare at the Internet.  
  
Bilbo on the other hand, could glare; and did, at the bits of paper that masquerades themselves as ‘news’.  
  
“ _’Beauty and the beast’_?” Bilbo sputtered when he saw the front page of another tabloid. “I- that’s, oh I’m going to move to some country where no one knows me and I don’t speak the language and thus severely limit the chances that I will ever have to see such a thing as this, this _nonsense_ again.”  
  
The image on the magazine’s cover was two photos fitted together. One of Bilbo looking particularly young and sweet, and one of Dwalin mid-yell, looking like he was about to eat whoever he’d been shouting at. It wasn’t very flattering, but it wasn’t like Dwalin cared.

Still.  
  
“Can I join you?” Dwalin asked. “I’m sure Thorin has a hotel in some country like that. Like Norway. I’m pretty sure he owns something in Norway. There was this thing with Vikings, and that’s Norway, right? Vikings and fish.”  
  
“I’m serious,” Bilbo said with a scowl, but he couldn’t keep it up for long before he deflated. “No I’m not, I don’t want to move to Norway.”  
  
“How about Germany?”  
  
When Bilbo just sighed Dwalin moved behind and wrapped his arms around the smaller man.  
  
“I don’t like that they’re being mean to you,” Bilbo muttered, tilting his head back to rest against Dwalin’s chest.

“You can be extra nice to make up for it?” Dwalin said hopefully. When Bilbo just let another sad sigh escape Dwalin frowned. “Hey, it’s nothing I’ve not heard before.”

“That really doesn’t make it better,” Bilbo said quietly. “I didn’t think this would be how people reacted. I thought that _I_ might have a hard time, that they’d say I tricked you into it, something like that. Like when they thought I was with Bofur. I wouldn’t have thought that I’d be sad that _didn’t_ happen.”

“Bilbo,” Dwalin said, rubbing his hands up and down his lover’s sides. “They’re just being stupid, that’s how those rags always are. And despite the general public sometimes being only slighter smarter than a bucket of cheese, they’re not going to think that the drivel they’re reading is true. It’s just because I’m big and loud and you’re small and-”  
  
“I’m not small,” Bilbo complained. “You’re just huge.”  
  
“I might be waggling my eyebrows now,” Dwalin said casually, smirking when Bilbo snorted.

“Don’t you start that again, this kitchen has been declared a pun-free zone.”

“Oh, I thought it was a _pants_ -free zone, my mistake.”

A beat.  
  
“You’re not wearing pants?”  
  
“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement,” Dwalin grinned. “You’ll have to figure it out for yourself.”

-  
  
He did figure it out.  
  
-  
  
“Oh darling. Dwalin. Please.”  
  
Bilbo had been altering between calling him by his name and darling for so long now that Dwalin was starting to become confused regarding which was which. But it was clearly a sign that he was doing something right.  
   
“Oh. Oh. _Oh_.” Bilbo's eyes fluttered close and Dwalin raised a slight unsteady hand to stroke fingers along his lover’s lips and neck.  
   
“Bilbo, look at me.” When he did Dwalin leaned down to kiss him, hoping that he wasn’t squishing is lover, but _really_ needing to kiss him.  
   
“Darling. Please,” Bilbo breathed against his lips. “Are you going to come inside me?”  
    
Dwalin's hips stuttered.  
   
“For someone who claims that he doesn't have a foul mouth you talk damned dirty.”  
  
Bilbo dug one heel into Dwalin’s back. “I want you too,” he murmured.  
  
“Fucking hell,” Dwalin moaned.

  
-  
  
Tauriel handled the whole reveal as calmly as she handled everything, and Dori went into a panic because apparently Bilbo was starting to get a reputation for sleeping around and that didn’t at _all_ fit with the image Dori was going for.  
  
“How does the people who get sex tapes published survive,” Bilbo murmured into Dwalin’s shoulder just as the cab stopped outside the studio. “We were just holding each other. There were clothes and everything.”  
  
Speaking of, Dwalin really needed to remember to delete those other photos, or Dori would really have that heart attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol, this chapter is a bit weird. It's like, humour! angsty! smutty! Dori! But I hope you liked it.
> 
> As things currently stand, I've got nothing else resembling plot planned for this 'verse. So if you've suggested something before and my brain has forgotten it, or if you think of something, you know where to find me. Can't say I'll get to it at once, but definitely eventually :)
> 
> Otherwise I'll probably think of something eventually, and until then there's always the animal!fic.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fucking trash mags...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by elonorasweet

**_Tempers run hot 'Durin' family dinner_ **   
  
_While Thorin Oakenshield isn't exactly what we could call this country’s answer to Paris Hilton, (though we certainly wouldn't mind a sex tape, no we wouldn’t) the former heir(now president) of the Durin empire and its flagship Erebor Hotels still manages to show up in our column a fair bit more than you'd expect from your average businessman._   
  
_Last we saw of him was when he[ made headlines](2027118) together with none other than Bilbo Baggins, who is rumoured to have broken Oakenshield’s heart when he i[nstead took up with Dwalin Fundinson](2029206), the man who could make a sailor look like a nun. (And who is also related to Oakenshield.)_   
  
_Not that we'd blame anyone who wants to sleep with Fundinson, we’ve seen the man in a sleeveless shirt, but it's just not nice starting trouble between relatives. And being greedy is such an unclassy thing to do. Pick one hot guy and leave the rest will ya'! We haven’t forgotten about[ Baggins’ entanglement with Bofur Broadbeam](2010986) earlier this year either, even if Baggins seems to have. (It’s always the quiet ones, eh?)_   
  
_A source in Oakenshield’s inner circle claims that the poor man hasn't been the same since Bilbo left him. While we trust our sources, it’s a little hard to tell since Oakenshield’s typical expression is of someone who has taken a bite out of a lemon. (Expect for in the photos where he's seen embracing a certain celebrity chef, aww… Let us comfort you Thorin! There are more fish in the sea!)_   
  
_[ Have you any other photos of Thorin Oakenshield smiling, do drop us a note.](../?show_comments=true&view_full_work=true#comments)_   


_…_

  
_Last night there was a family dinner at the Erebor Hotel in downtown Los Angeles. Baggins did not attend, and we think we can figure out why. (See, that’s another reason why you shouldn’t get between family, makes for very awkward dinner conversation.)_   
  
_The main course hadn't even been served before raised voices could be heard from the private dining room, followed by even more raised voices and the sound of broken porcelain. (What did we say? Awkward.)_   
  
_Apart from Oakenshield and his two siblings, and Fundinson and his brother, the others attending was Dáin Ironfoot (has the man ever considered that a name change might be in order? He's not a bloody pirate) accompanied by his wife, the always dazzling Aila; last seen on the catwalk wearing a to-die-for dress from Gaultier, and Óin, the older of the Durin siblings that some say are secretly running the entire business (Oakenshield makes for a very pretty figurehead though.)_   
  
_…_   
  
_It’s not confirmed who threw the first dish, but dear readers, we’re sure you can guess._   


_-_  
  
“So what really happened?” Bilbo asked after he’d finished talking Dori down from the metaphorical ledge.  
  
Dwalin sighed. “Sure you don’t want me to go pack my bags instead?” When Bilbo looked alarmed Dwalin shook his head and smiled. “To move to Norway I mean.”  
  
“That bad?” Bilbo said, joining Dwalin on the couch, nudging himself beneath the bigger man’s arm.  
  
“Not really, the raised voices was just because Óin had lost his hearing aid, again, and the broken plates was Dáin wanting to show that he’d learned how to juggle. As you can imagine, he hadn’t really.” Dwalin chuckled and squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder. “You should have seen Thorin’s face though. Especially when Dáin didn't let the first failure stop him from trying again.”  
  
“I’d like to meet Dáin sometime,” Bilbo said, taking Dwalin’s hand and drawing invisible patterns on the back of it. Then the blond’s face fell slightly. “Of course if I do people are probably going to think I’m sleeping with him.”  
  
“Gossips rags aren’t people,” Dwalin grumbled.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by elenorasweet and curiosity.  
> The network decides that a having Dwalin and Bilbo do a crossover episode(s) is an opportunity too amazing to miss.

“Are we really going to do this?” Dwalin looked pleadingly at his lover.  
  
“It’ll be fun,” Bilbo promised and brushed a kiss over Dwalin’s cheek, just barely able to reach him as they were both in the back of a limo, security belts indeed very securely belted. Who had decided that limos needed to be wider than normal cars anyway? Or was this just a defective one.  
  
“And you know they’ve been looking forwards to it. The fans I mean, not the studio execs, but them too. It’s not like they’re going to ask us to make love in front of the camera. They just want us to do an episode together. _And_ it’s for charity.”  
  
“You sure about that?” Dwalin asked drily. “About the love-making bit. Would make for amazing ratings.”  
  
“And then Dori would smack them so hard with my contract that they’d be spitting out pieces of it until next Easter,” Bilbo said mildly. Dwalin snorted.  
  
“Tauriel would likely try and talk us into it. Apparently sex tapes are incapable of hurting a television career, they might scar you _mentally_ , but the publicity is great.”  
  
“She said that?” Bilbo asked with a slightly horrified look.  
  
“Pretty much,” Dwalin shrugged. “She’s never been one to mince words.”  
  
“Darling?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“No sex tapes.”  
  
“No putting our private lives on display at all and turning this car around instead?” Dwalin asked hopefully. Usually they didn’t send a limo, Dwalin felt like this was significant, but he hadn’t figured out why.  
  
“The fans,” Bilbo pointed out, and damn if his pleading look wasn’t about a million times more effective than Dwalin’s own. Fucking hell.  
  
“They’d like a sex tape too,” Dwalin muttered. “I’ve seen what they write in the forums.”  
  
“I still don’t see why-“  
  
“’-why I persist in reading something that will only-’” Dwalin recited along with Bilbo, who stop talking to better glare up at him. “’-end up upsetting me.’” Dwalin finished. “And it’s because I want to be prepared when they finally stage that kidnapping attempt on you.”  
  
“There’s _no_ kidnapping attempt,” Bilbo protested. “It was just a stupid joke.”  
  
“Uh huh,” Dwalin said, unconvinced. There had been _flow charts_.  
  
-  
  
The idea was that Dwalin and his crew would help fix up a restaurant belonging to a newly wedded couple who had gotten back from their honey moon only to discover that their restaurant had been flooded, invaded by ants, and (perhaps most peculiarly) that a duck had moved in while they’d been sunning themselves on some beach in the Caribbean Islands.  
  
The duck they had decided to keep as some sort of mascot, albeit in their own home and not in the restaurant, (health and fucking safety had dodged a bullet there) but the flooding and the ants had needed to be dealt with which had left very little money to fix the place back up to standard again. They had a functioning kitchen, but not really anything else. Which was where Dwalin came in.  
  
Where exactly Bilbo came in… well, apparently this was a ‘prime opportunity’ for a special episode on both their shows. Dwalin would fix the restaurant and Bilbo would help make a special menu and help with the food on the opening night. A ‘crossover’ they’d called it.

Fucking hell.  
  
While he was a world away from being ashamed of his lover, Dwalin still wasn’t fond of the idea of putting _any_ part of his private life on display. Bilbo hadn’t been all that eager either to start with, but then one of the slimy little fuckers that called themselves producers said the magical words: ‘for charity’, and Bilbo had melted like a popsicle in the sun.  
  
And Tauriel approved because she always approved of publicity, and Dori approved because it was what he deemed _good_ publicity (unlike rumours that Bilbo was sleeping with half the country), so in the end Dwalin had caved as well.  
  
For the sake of his lover, and for the sake of children in need, Dwalin would get through this. Without punching anyone. Yeah.  
  
-  
  
“So this isn’t really going the way I thought it would,” Bilbo said once they’d paused for lunch. “I’ve hardly seen you today. I thought they’d have us actually be on screen at the same time every now and again. Otherwise, what’s the point?”  
  
“It’s just the first day,” Dwalin pointed out. “We’ve hardly done anything more than poke around and measure things. Not much that makes for good filming.” He snorted. “But if you want to come over and compliment me on the size of my tools, I’m sure Tauriel will send you a fruit basket.”  
  
“What a lovely offer,” Bilbo said and rolled his eyes, the slightest tinge of red appearing on his cheeks and Dwalin tried (and failed) not to find it absolutely adorable.  
  
“Tell him that he’s got a mighty drill,” Bard suggested. “He’s always going around fondling that thing anyway. There’re YouTube vids of it.”

“Lies,” Dwalin said with a dark look at the traitor.  
  
“Oh, I don’t blame him,” Bard said to Bilbo in a stage whisper. “It is a fine drill. Cordless, adjustable torque, and easy to handle even with just one hand.”  
  
“He does touch it an awful lot,” Éowyn said with a shrug as she crammed the rest of her sandwich into her mouth.  
  
“So, you’re both fired,” Dwalin said pleasantly.  
  
“ _You_ can’t fire us,” Éowyn and Bard chorused, Éowyn’s words muffled from the sandwich.  
  
“He’s not really our boss,” Bard said to Bilbo. “And he knows he’d be lost without us.”  
  
Dwalin sighed and poked his fork at the thing that pretended it was a lasagne. It tasted nothing like Bilbo’s did. If Bilbo ever broke up with him, Dwalin would likely starve to death. Or maybe not, because Bilbo was probably kind enough to not let him. _Probably_. Because he could and would withhold cookies, so there was definitely a darker streak to him.  
  
“Are we talking about Dwalin being lost?” Éomer asked as he sat down.  
  
“How about if we just _give_ money to charity?” Dwalin asked Bilbo. “I’ve got money.”  
  
“How about I bring us both lunch tomorrow?” Bilbo suggested.  
  
“Fine,” Dwalin said after a moment’s consideration.  
  
“Whipped,” Éomer muttered but Dwalin just shrugged one shoulder.  
  
“You poor, poor bastard just haven’t tasted his cooking and I pity you.”

-  
  
“Oh dear lord, marry me,” Éomer moaned the next day as he stole another piece of gnocchi from Dwalin’s plate. Dwalin growled at him and pulled the plate closer to himself, wrapping his left arm around it protectively.  
  
“You are defending the food but not Bilbo?” Bard asked with a raised eyebrow.  
  
“Bilbo can take care of himself,” Dwalin said as he stabbed his fork towards Éomer’s hand as it came creeping across the table. “The food can’t.”  
  
“Thank you,” Bilbo said amused. “And to you as well,” he said to Éomer. “I think. But I’m afraid I will have to turn you down.”  
  
“Is it the hair?” Éomer asked mournfully. “I can totally shave it off if that’s what will get me more of these. And let my beard grow longer. Or is it just the lack of surly disposition? I’m not a morning person, you can make me breakfast and I’ll prove it.”  
  
Éowyn smacked the back of her brother’s head. “You have a wife.”  
  
“Lothíriel will agree to share me if she gets some of these,” Éomer pointed to Dwalin's plate and Dwalin bared his teeth. “Though I guess I can’t marry you,” he said apologetically to Bilbo. “I think it’s illegal to do it twice. Although…” he looked thoughtful. “If I marry you and then we get a divorce, can I make you  pay alimony in food?”  
  
“Hey,” Dwalin protested as Éowyn managed to steal of piece of his gnocchi. Her eyes widened when she popped it into her mouth.  
  
“This is really good,” she said. “And I’m not married, and we would have very pretty blond babies together. Think about it.”  
  
“NO,” Dwalin growled at Bard when the dark-haired man’s forked started moving in his direction.  
  
“You can try one of mine,” Bilbo offered when faced with Bard's hangdog expression.  
  
“I’m not married either,” was Bard’s comment after tasting.  
  
“ _Girlfriend_ ,” Eowyn mouthed, pointing at Bard. “ _Pregnant girlfriend_.”  
  
Éomer elbowed her. “Shut your mouth, you’re a girl. You don’t even have the right parts to marry him.”

“Discrimination!”  
  
“You know,” Bilbo said to Dwalin. “This also wasn’t what I thought would happen during the shooting of this episode.”  
  
Dwalin raised an eyebrow. “Clearly you’ve not been listening to me talk about these guys.”  
  
“Clearly,” Bilbo agreed as Éowyn and Éomer showed started an improvised duel, using their forks as swords.  
  
"Can I try some?" one of the electrical guys asked from down the table.  
  
-  
  
“Okay, so Bilbo and Beren will come out with some snacks, cameras on them, Lúthien will follow with the lemonade. And then we were thinking that Bilbo would kiss-“  
  
“No,” Dwalin grunted.  
  
“Way to sound grumpy,” Bard stage whispered. “You’re going to be make Éowyn think that she has a chance to snatch Bilbo away.”  
  
“I’m here to work,” Dwalin said shortly. “Kissing Bilbo isn’t part of that.”  
  
“Bilbo?” Boromir turned a pleading gaze in the blond’s direction.  
  
“No, I do agree with Dwalin here.” Bilbo squirmed a little. “I don’t like the idea of kissing him just because someone tells me to do it.”  
  
Éowyn snickered and elbowed Dwalin. “But surely you want to kiss this, this rugged hunk of tattooed awesomeness. And no, I was not the one coming up with that description. We can thank the Internet for that.”

Showing his normal good sense Bilbo ignored her. “Besides, I thought we had agreed on no scripted interactions between Dwalin and me?”

Boromir did have the decency to a look a little guilty. A little. Very goal oriented that one. But at least no one had thought that _Gandalf_ should be the one in charge of this episode. There you could talk meddling on an epic bloody scale. And Bilbo had such fucking issues saying no to him since he was the one getting him into the business in the first place.  
  
Thankfully both Gandalf and Boromir usually stayed away from ‘At Your Service’, and Dwalin couldn’t wait to get back to normal and Lindir. He might be a bit of a twit, but he was a respectful twit.

-  
  
“Great job, people!” Dwalin called out and clapped his hands. “Now we call it a day.”  
  
There were was cheering from his crew, as well as Éomer’s usual whooping.  
  
“If the boss thinks we’re done that is?” Dwalin asked and cocked an eyebrow at Boromir.

“Well, I’d like to do one additional shot, but that’s just with you, Dwalin,” Boromir smiled when the cheering that had started to turn into sighing turned back into cheering once again.  
  
Dwalin snorted. “I feel the love.”

“Oh, you should sing that song from the Lion King to Bilbo,” Éowyn said as she ran her fingers through her ponytail to brush away the sawdust. “I would be a great Timon and sing about how Bilbo is taking you away from us, only I can add a line about how that’s all right if he feeds us.”  
  
Dwalin looked to Éomer who shrugged. “I’m just her brother, don’t look at me.”  
  
“Have you considered, brother,” Éowyn said. “That if Bilbo marries me then he’ll be _your_ brother-in-law, and you Lothíriel can _both_ come and eat dinner at our place.”  
  
“Sunday brunch too?”

“Get out of here,” Dwalin grunted. “Before I give into temptation and fire you.”  
  
“You can’t fire us,” the siblings chorused and Dwalin sighed.  
  
“So you threaten them with that a lot?”  
  
Dwalin turned to find Bilbo smiling at him. “For all the good that does me,” Dwalin grunted.

“Everybody!” Bard called and waved his hand at their crew. "One, two-"  
  
“You can’t fire us,” his crew chirped happily, some of the camera team joining in as well, and Bilbo hid a snicker by coughing.  
  
“I see,” he said and patted Dwalin’s arm consolingly. Dwalin tried to keep scowling, but it was hard when faced with Bilbo’s bright eyes and the way his lover’s nose was doing that kind of twitching thing it did when he tried not to laugh.  
  
“You’re all insubordinates little fuckers,” he sighed and wrapped his arm around Bilbo.  
  
“And we will see you tomorrow,” Bard said and slapped Dwalin on the shoulder. He nodded at Bilbo. “And hopefully you at lunch?”  
  
“I’m going to pretend you said that because you want my company,” Bilbo said drily.

“Marry me?” Éowyn whispered as she walked by.  
  
“Marry her!” Éomer echoed as he followed his sister.

Bilbo shook his head and rested it against Dwalin’s chest. “I wonder if Dori will like rumours about me marrying people better than rumours about me sleeping with people?”

Dwalin chuckled and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s hair. “Don’t worry, he’ll find a way to blame me for it, I’m sure.”

The noncommittal humming he got in response was as good as a ‘yes, yes he will, and I feel slightly bad for it, but not bad enough to correct him and suffer the lecture’.

“So I’m done for the day,” Bilbo instead told Dwalin’s collar bone.  
  
“I’m-“ Dwalin looked to Boromir who held up five fingers. “-almost done. Give me ten. All right?”

“Sure.” Pulling back Bilbo smiled up at him, rising up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll go wait with Hamfast by the car. He was telling me about his garden earlier, and apparently he’s got a secret trick when it comes to growing tomatoes.”  
  
“Please finish that topic before I join you,” Dwalin teased and Bilbo narrowed his eyes (his nose was still doing that twitchy thing though).  
  
“I make no promises,” he huffed.  
  
-

“Okay, _who_ is that with Boromir?” Éowyn asked as she stared at someone behind Dwalin. He started to turn around and Éowyn hissed at him.  
  
“For god’s sake be a little discreet.”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Dwalin said sarcastically. “And then I’ll write a cook book.” He turned around and quickly located Boromir as he was the unmoving centre in the madness that was their show.  
  
“It’s his brother,” Dwalin said, turning back to Éowyn. “Faramir. You’ve never met?”  
  
“Noooo,” Éowyn said, not looking away from Faramir. “I would have remembered. Please tell me that he’s single. Please?”  
  
“He’s single,” Bard said and Éowyn did a very short victory dance.

“Excuse me, boys,” she said and got up from the table.  
  
Éomer watched his sister go with a frown.  
  
“Faramir is a good man,” Dwalin said. “You don’t need to-“  
  
“No, but this means that she’ll definitely not going to marry Bilbo and get me Sunday lunches. Hey…” Éomer protested when Dwalin smacked the back of his head.  
  
-  
  
“So how is the menu coming along?” Dwalin asked Bilbo as they sat down to eat lunch.  
  
“Good I think,” Bilbo said enthusiastically. “It’s exciting to try and do something vegetarian, I hadn’t really-“  
  
“Vegetarian?”  
  
“You know, just vegetables?” Éomer said and Dwalin just barely resisted further slaps towards the other man’s head.  
  
“I know what vegetarian means-“ the ‘you idiot’ went unsaid but not really _unheard_ “-I just didn’t know that this was a vegetarian restaurant.”  
  
“Beren is a vegetarian,” Bilbo explained. “And it’s not just vegetables,” he added, looking at Éomer. “Unless you think eggs are vegetables, or maybe that honey is?”  
  
“A honey tree would be amazing,” Bard said dreamily.  
  
“Anyway, it’s going good.” Bilbo smiled at Dwalin. “It’s a nice kitchen they’ve got here, and they’re both very lovely. And they’ve been through such an ordeal! Not only with the flooding, but Lúthien’s parents really didn’t support their marriage, they actually had to elope.”  
  
Dwalin thought about what it would have been like if Balin and Thorin and the others had disliked Bilbo. It wouldn’t have changed how he’d felt about his lover, but it would indeed have made life much more complicated.  
  
Then again, if it was possible for someone not to like Bilbo, that person was in Dwalin’s opinion rather deranged. Thorin was proof enough of that. He might have been a little gruff at first, but already _before_ Bilbo saved his ass with the emergency cooking incident, he’d already come around to see how brilliant Bilbo was.  
  
“So what does her folks think now?”  
  
“Still not really liking the marriage,” Bilbo said with a sigh. “Poor things.”  
  
“The happy couple or the unhappy parents?” Bard asked.  
  
“Well, both I guess,” Bilbo replied. “The parents, they’re missing so much just because-“ Bilbo paused and looked a bit guilty. “It’s not my business, I’m sorry. I’ll, we’ll just leave it. I’ll just- no, shutting up now.“

Looking across the room Dwalin’s gaze found the two newlyweds: Lúthien; with the kind of dark hair and pale skin that could have her renamed Snow White and instead of objections people would just start bringing her short people - and Beren. Beren was laughing at something Lúthien had said and his teeth were blindingly white against his dark skin.

Dwalin had a good idea what Bilbo had been told about why Lúthien’s parents hadn’t approved. Fucking hell. When were people going to stop being fixated on stupid shit like that.  
  
“Any of it going to be in the episode?” Dwalin asked his lover quietly and Bilbo shrugged.  
  
“I don’t know if they want it, they’re just… they’re just in love. Not looking to make statements.” Bilbo sighed. “I’m thankful that the two of us met in a time that’s at least _slightly_ removed its head form its rear.”  
  
“I’m sure you will help remove it further,” Bard said and slapped Bilbo on the back, which made the blond flinch as he hadn’t expected it, which in turn made Dwalin glare at Bard. “Hey, just trying to be supportive here,” Bard said and raised his hands.  
  
“You suck at it,” Éowyn told him.  
  
“Like you’re not planning to have little pretty blond babies with Faramir,” Bard shook his head sadly. “And you wanted to have them with Bilbo too. You’re ruining it for the rest of us. Spreading your sick ideals.”  
  
“Can we stop having lunch with these guys?” Dwalin asked Bilbo who just looked confused.  
  
“Um, you’re always sitting with them when I join you?”  
  
“Well, they keep following me like fucking geese,” Dwalin said with a glare at said geese.

“I don’t feel very loved,” Bard sniffed.  
  
“Does that make you our mummy?” Éowyn asked and fluttered her eyelashes.  
  
“Maybe I should just try and fire myself,” Dwalin mused.  
  
-  
  
They’d finally finished redoing the interiors of the restaurant which, in a perfect world, meant that Dwalin should be done with this fucking episode. The newlyweds had been thrilled, and there had been awkward hugging and tears, and that usually sealed the deal.  
  
However, in this world he needed to stay for the restaurant’s opening night and basically go on a televised date with Bilbo. Fucking hell. They’d barely even dated as it were, and now they had to do it on national television? Sure, fucking Boromir said that they only needed to have dinner, smile, and look like they were having fun, but still… Dwalin wasn't comfortable. Though at least the terrible trio wasn’t joining them. And he would get to eat food that Bilbo had at least helped make, even if it was mostly just green things. And it was still a good ten minutes or so before the cameras would start rolling, because someone was still screaming about the lights being wrong in the background. But-  
  
“You’re trying to cheer yourself up, aren’t you, darling?” Bilbo asked with a smile, leaning over the table to place his hand over Dwalin’s. “You’ve a wrinkle that keeps appearing and disappearing in your forehead. It’ll be fine, fun even.”  
  
“I think you said the same thing the first time we came here,” Dwalin said drily.  
  
“And it’s been fun,” Bilbo said. “Admit it.”  
  
It had been rather fun to get to fix-up an entire restaurant… And to at least sort of get to work with Bilbo.  
  
“See,” Bilbo said smugly.  
  
“You really need to stop reading my mind,” Dwalin protested half-heartedly.  
  
“It’s not my fault you’ve got an expressive face.”  
  
Dwalin would admit that he at the moment was likely wearing a very sceptical expression, but still.  
  
“You do!” Bilbo protested. “It’s why I-“  
  
Dwalin watched intrigued as a deep flush spread over Bilbo’s cheeks. “Why you what?”  
  
“I’ll tell you later,” Bilbo hedged, but now Dwalin’s curiosity was definitely roused. Blushing and refusal to talk about it while they were in public. So it had to do with sex because while Dwalin knew from personal experience that Bilbo was very much enthusiastic about their lovemaking, he was also horribly embarrassed about talking about it in a public setting; saying that it just wasn’t anyone’s business. Which is wasn't, but that just meant that they bloody shouldn't be listening, and no one was listening now.  
  
Soooo, sex. Sex and Dwalin’s face.  
  
“You like watching me, my face, as we shag,” Dwalin said as the proverbial shoe dropped.  
  
“Not so loud,” Bilbo hissed. “And who is the mind reader now?” The blond looked around to check that no one was near them. “You’re lovely, that’s all. The look in your eyes, and- you’re just _lovely_.”

“Marry me.”  
  
Dwalin had intended to call Bilbo’s eyesight into question, because clearly there was something wrong. But it would seem as if his mouth had other ideas. But as ideas went this one had… Then Dwalin’s eyes widened. “Oh hell, I take it back.”  
  
“You do?” Bilbo asked, looking a little hurt and Dwalin winced.  
  
“I’m not- there’s cameras here. I’m not- not on national fucking television.” Dwalin shrugged helplessly. “Just, it’s just for us.”

Bilbo’s expression softened but Dwalin still braced himself as his lover rose to his feet. But Bilbo only walked the few steps around the table until he could crowd himself into Dwalin's lap.  
  
“If you ask again later, the answer will be yes,” Bilbo whispered. “And if you don’t, then I guess I’ll just have to ask.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Bilbo nodded, and the smile Dwalin received was bright enough to solve the world’s energy problem if it could only be stored somehow.

“So many people have asked lately,” Bilbo teased. “But I like your offer the best.”  
  
“And I’m not just asking because of your food either,” Dwalin said and cupped Bilbo’s face, rubbing his thumb over a plump cheek. “But I’d not turn down a prenup stating that all your cookies are now also my cookies.”  
  
“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Bilbo murmured. “Love you, darling.”  
  
Instead of replying Dwalin just let his kiss do the talking for him.  
  
-  
  
When shown the preview of the finished episode Dwalin realised that cameras were annoying little buggers. Or maybe that was just the camera crew.  
  
There were a lot more interactions between him and Bilbo than he’d expected, the camera people having apparently been ordered to film them even between takes. It rather made him feel like a reality show contestant. The scene during the opening night wasn’t included though, so either they’d not been filming or… Dwalin looked to Tauriel.  
  
“I made them take it out.” She shrugged one shoulder. “The dinner. It was clearly private.”  
  
“Says the woman who would send a sex tape to all major publishers in the world if I had one made.”  
  
“That’s just _personal_ ,” Tauriel said innocently. “Not private. I have my limits you know. Emotions and sex aren’t the same thing.”  
  
“I think we should send you to therapy,” Dwalin muttered.  
  
“No. But if you feel the urge to film…”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Damn.”  
  
-  
  
“Dori tells me that we broke something called tumblr and that he’s happy about it,” Bilbo told Dwalin as the latter walked into the living room. He was carrying two cups of tea and the cookie jar (which was _infuriatingly_ narrow at the top, almost like Bilbo had planned it that way… but no matter, Bilbo could just feed him the little tasty morsels instead).  
  
“I’ve not broken anything,” Dwalin protested, mostly on general principle because if Dori was happy about it then fine.  
  
“No, they aired the restaurant episode of our shows today.” Bilbo frowned. “Why do I need to tell _you_ this?”  
  
“Because I don’t really care about the television part beyond the fact that it pays me?” Dwalin said as he sat down on the couch.  
  
“Remind me to send Tauriel my condolences,” Bilbo murmured. “But anyway, the fans are very happy, so Dori is happy too.”  
  
“I’m thrilled,” Dwalin said and rolled his eyes. When Bilbo took the cup Dwalin handed him there was a slight ‘ _tink’_ sound as the blond's ring knocked against the porcelain.  
  
It was still only an engagement ring, and they hadn’t set a date, but as always when Dwalin was reminded that Bilbo wore a ring that matched the one he wore on his own left hand, Dwalin felt the absurd urge to open the nearest window and shout to the world that Bilbo Baggins was _his_. So far he’d been able to resist. Which was good, because neither Bilbo nor Dori would likely be very happy by such a declaration.  
  
“I’m just glad they showed another side of you,” Bilbo said softly and leaned his head against Dwalin’s shoulder, cuddling closer as Dwalin’s arm came up to wrap around him. “There was still shouting-“  
  
“Now that you’ve met the people I’m working with, do you blame me?”  
  
“- _but_ there were other things as well.”  
  
“You just shouldn’t care what other people think.” Dwalin took a sip out of his cup. “If they’re stupid then they’re likely too stupid to change. And I do shout.”  
  
“Not at me.”  
  
“Technically that’s not true,” Dwalin snorted. “Only, it’s usually when we’re in bed.”  
  
“None of that kind of shouting on television, thank you very much,” Bilbo said primly.  
  
“Cruel man,” Dwalin lamented. “How shall I go on with my life now that my wicked plans have been crushed to dust beneath your feet?”  
  
“Cookie?” Bilbo offered and Dwalin laughed and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the length made up for some of the wait!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting married is tricky business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!
> 
> Especially to the pot to my kettle.

They hadn’t made a single statement about their engagement, so of course everyone knew that they were about to get married. That was how the logic of the entertainment industry worked it would seem.  
  
Dwalin had told him that their fans’ levels of excitement was beginning to freak even Tauriel out, and while Bilbo knew that surely couldn’t be a good sign, he'd still hoped that would manage to have a quiet, private wedding.  
  
Just their closest family and friends (well, he’d never thought that they would have a _small_ wedding).  
  
Unfortunately Dori and Tauriel did not agree with him.  
  
-  
  
Bilbo and Dwalin was seated on one side of their kitchen table with Dori and Tauriel on the other, and it felt a bit like meeting the parents, which was ridiculous for a lot of reasons.  
  
“Guys, there’s no way that you’re going to keep your wedding a private matter,” Tauriel stated, placing her elbows on the kitchen table and still managing to look graceful even when slouching. Dori nodded and took a sip of his tea.  
  
“Not if you keep the guest list like this,” he said and tapped his finger on the paper Bilbo and Dwalin had prepared.  
  
Bilbo looked over at Dwalin who shrugged.  
  
“What’s wrong with our list?”  
  
“Nothing’s _wrong_ , per se,” Dori hedged.  
  
“Half the people on it has to go if you want to have even a _small_ chance of managing to keep this wedding private,” Tauriel said, dragging the list over to her side of the table. “Too many high profile guests, not to mention too many people who does not even _know_ the word discretion.”  
  
“They’re not going to tell anyone,” Bilbo said, leaning into Dwalin’s side as a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders. “Not if we tell them that we want to keep things quiet.”  
  
“They’re not going to _need_ to tell anyone,” Tauriel sighed. “Thorin is one of the few who will get away with flying off to wherever you plan on having this thing, since he’s always flying about anyway. But you either need a bunch of people flying here, or you and a bunch of people will be flying elsewhere, and trust me, people will notice that.” Tauriel smiled wryly. “And people will talk. Not to mention that right now, people will talk if you as much as go near a place that sells cakes, and the planning that goes into something this size-.”  
  
“I’m not going to _buy_ our wedding cake,” Bilbo huffed, and Tauriel’s smile turned a little more genuine.  
  
“Of course not. But still, there’s catering and the booking of venue and-”  
  
“So what you’re really saying is that we get to choose?” Dwalin asked flatly. “Either we get married with the damned gossip rags lurking in the bushes or we don’t get married at all?”  
  
Bilbo sighed and twined his fingers with Dwalin’s. Just when had his life turned into this?  
  
He appreciated that their fans were… interested, and really, it was the tabloids that was the biggest problem. Unfortunately it was also the tabloids that could afford to pay for plane tickets for whatever destination they thought he and Dwalin would pick for their wedding.  
  
Dori and Tauriel exchanged a look. It was a rather complicated look, and Bilbo sighed again.  
  
“Not quite,” Tauriel said. “But we have a few suggestions.”  
  
-  
  
After Dori and Tauriel had left Bilbo and Dwalin ended up on the couch, Bilbo lying curled up on top of Dwalin, his right hand curled into Dwalin’s shirt, the other one playing with his beard.  
  
“You okay with this?” Dwalin asked, stroking a big, warm hand soothingly down Bilbo’s back. It made him feel sleepy and started a low burn of arousal all at once, but both those things would have to wait.  
  
“Are you? It’s hardly what we had talked about.”  
  
Dwalin had wanted a fairly traditional wedding, and Bilbo’s preference had been somewhere outside, and both these things would now not happen.  
  
“As long as I end up as your husband I’m fine with it,” Dwalin said slowly. “Never mind the details. Your rings on my finger, mine on yours. That works.”  
  
Bilbo raised his head enough to press kiss to Dwalin’s throat, nuzzling his cheek against the bristly skin. “I, yes. You’re quite right.”  
  
“Though there’re a lot of people working for those gossip rags that I’d gladly push down a very steep cliff,” Dwalin said darkly. “Not to mention the crazy people on the Internet. Maybe the entire Internet while we’re at it.”  
  
“I’m fairly sure you’d upset a lot of people if you did away with the Internet,” Bilbo pointed out.  
  
“Serves them right,” Dwalin muttered. “The vultures are going to comb through everything, trying to find any mention of people seeing us, at least once they realise that something fishy is going on.”  
  
“Maybe you should have suggested to Tauriel that she’d find our doppelgangers,” Bilbo suggested, pillowing his arms on Dwalin’s chest to look his lover in the eyes. “I think she was very enthusiastic about this so she’d probably think it was a grand idea. She might be entertaining dreams about being a spy.”  
  
Now that he thought about it, Tauriel reminded him a fair bit of the woman from that super-hero film they’d seen. Redheaded and lovely, but with a certain air of ‘I-know-the-best-places-to-hide-your-body’.

“No need to make things more complicated,” Dwalin replied. “And as for the wedding, we can always have a reception later. Once people have realised that we’re going to end up like one of those boring married couples and are no longer as interested.”  
  
Bilbo snorted. “Does that mean that we need to buy matching tracksuits? Or just start arguing about who snores more. That’s you.”  
  
“And your feet are blocks of ice cleverly masquerading as flesh,” Dwalin said drily. “And you have a strange aversion to the dishwasher that I will never understand.”

“You have a cookie addiction.” Bilbo accused with a poorly hidden smile, lips twitching as he did his best to look stern. “A very serious one, but I guess the rehab would be too much of a scandal.”

“It’s not all that I’m addicted to,” Dwalin murmured, his hands trailing further down Bilbo’s body, brushing over his hips and arse.  
  
“Marrying me for my baked goods and the fabulous sex then?” Bilbo stretching his head up for a kiss.

“All your cookies will indeed also be mine,” Dwalin agreed earnestly, although there was a teasing spark in his eyes that Bilbo so loved and recognized. “But we’re already sleeping together, so I don’t see what it has to do with it. But…” Big fingers cupped Bilbo’s jaw, Dwalin’s engagement ring a cool spot against his skin. “-there’s also another reason.”  
  
“And what would that be?” Bilbo turned his face into Dwalin’s hand.  
  
“That I love you,” Dwalin said quietly. “And I would get married in a bathroom if you were all right with it.”  
  
“Make it a pantry and you have a deal,” Bilbo murmured as he angled his head for another kiss.  
  
“We’re doing this then?” Dwalin rumbled against his lips.  
  
“Yes, I think so,” Bilbo breathed.  
  
-  
  
Dori wiped his eyes with a tissue as Bilbo and Dwalin signed the marriage certificate and Tauriel slung her arm around the smaller man’s shoulder in a sidewise hug. “Our babies are all grown up.”  
  
“Go and witness it,” Dwalin growled, but Bilbo saw the smile that his _husband_ couldn’t suppress.  Husband. _Husband_.  
  
“We’re _married_ ,” Bilbo told Dwalin. Who was now his _husband_.

“As soon as I get this filed,” the very nice registrar said with a smile.  
  
Bilbo would need to ask Dori what the fellow’s name had been later. During the introductions Bilbo’s mind had been a jumbled mess beginning and ending with Dwalin, Dwalin, Dwalin, Marriage, Marriage, Marriage.  
  
They should probably send him a gift basket or something anyway, to thank him for agreeing to do this before office hours had officially begun. And while getting up that morning hadn't been particuarly pleasant; if ever there was a reason to get up at 5am, this was it.

Dwalin tangled their left hands together, lifting them up enough for him to lean down and press a kiss to Bilbo’s knuckles, just where his rings were.  
  
“That’s not where you’re supposed to kiss the groom,” Tauriel informed them cheekily.  
  
“If I start kissing Bilbo now we’re not going to be doing the next little step of your plan,” Dwalin told her without looking away from Bilbo. “But if you would point us in the direction of the nearest closet and ignore any sounds…”  
  
A _big_ gift basket, Bilbo amended when the registrar blushed. His own cheeks felt a little hot as well.  
  
“Marrying a man should get you _out_ of any closet,” Tauriel shook her head. “Bilbo, I’ve not signed yet, you sure you know what you’re doing?”  
  
“I’m sure,” Bilbo smiled, looking up into Dwalin’s smiling blue eyes. “I’m definitely sure.”  
  
However, the look in Dwalin’s eyes was also quite enough for the closet option to look more and more tempting, never mind the indignity of it all. But Bilbo managed to keep himself from climbing his husband like a tree (something he was fairly apt at if he did say so himself, both with and without actual trees involved) and instead only squeezed his hand tighter. There’d be time later.  
  
Once Tauriel had also signed the certificate, Dori; efficient as always having already done so, they thanked the registrar and Dori went with him to collect Bilbo’s and Dwalin’s copies, while Tauriel led them towards the exit, giving last minute… _tips._ Yes, that was probably the diplomatic word for it. Even if ‘orders’ was more closely related to the truth of the matter.  
  
“You’ve got the plane ticket already,” she told Dwalin who nodded and patted his pocket. “And you’ll of course be flying under your own name, but try and not get them to call you out in the speakers, and keep to yourself, and no one should really know that except for the crew. We’ll just hope they’re too professional to gossip. And here-” she pressed a green boonie hat into Dwalin’s chest. “Wear this, no arguing,” she added when Dwalin looked down on the hat with distaste.  
  
“The clothes you’re both wearing are good, they’re not like what anyone is used to seeing you in, but you will be a lot less recognizable if you cover your head as well.”  
  
Bilbo patted Dwalin’s consolingly; an arm covered in what the blond had to admit was a truly ugly shirt. It was _frumpy_ , and a dreary mustard yellow, and also big enough to actually hang loosely on Dwalin’s upper body. It couldn’t work miracles, so it did a rather poor job of hiding the size of him, or the width of his shoulders but it actually _did_ manage to suggest that it wasn’t exactly muscle hiding beneath the horrid fabric. If Bilbo ignored everything wrong with the shirt it was surprisingly cute to imagine a chubby Dwalin. Perhaps he really should make cookies more often…

Tauriel cleared her throat and Bilbo realised that his patting had rather turned into stroking, and not so much of Dwalin’s arm as of his stomach, and that Dwalin wasn’t putting the hat on as much as choking it to death; his hand clenched tightly in an effort to control himself.  
  
“Sorry,” Bilbo said, taking a miniscule step away from his husband, because that was how far it felt possible to go.

“If you start snogging I will throw water on you,” Tauriel told them sternly. “Four hours, then you can crawl into bed and do all the things that would make Dori’s ears burn were I to speak about them now. But try to keep it together until then. Bilbo, you remember which train you’ll take?”  
  
“I’ve gone to Hobbiton before, Tauriel,” Bilbo said, trying not to sound huffy. “And so have Dwalin.”  
  
He shouldn’t be short with her. It wasn’t Tauriel’s fault that he was newly wedded, but about to not see his husband for four long hours. They’d all agreed that they would be all that much more obvious if they’d travel together, so while Dwalin would fly, Bilbo would arrive to Hobbiton by train, and they’d meet up at Bag End for a - hopefully - private, quiet and wonderful honeymoon.  
  
“Good,” Tauriel said with a small smile.  
  
“Tauriel, thank you,” Dwalin said gruffly, pulling the redhead into a quick embrace. Bilbo pretended that he didn’t see her eyes widen in pleased surprise, as it would likely make her glare at him.  
  
“Yeah, not really part of my job to keep publicity _away_ from you,” she said after they’d separated. “You’re lucky to have me, Fundinson. But I guess I might have my hands full today after all. Apparently there’s already news vans parked outside the hotel.”  
  
It had been Dori’s suggestion that Thorin would, very publically, invite them to use one of his hotels for the wedding that wasn’t really going to happen, and it was also his idea that Bofur would forget his ‘invitation’ in his dressing room over the weekend.  
  
Hopefully most of the press would right now be amassing in the opposite end of the country to where Bilbo and Dwalin were going. And… Bilbo pulled at his t-shirt with a sigh, hopefully no one would recognize the two of them and reveal that Thorin’s invitation had indeed only been a smokescreen. He really hoped that there would be no pictures, he had a feeling he looked stupid, and he missed his usual shirts. Wearing a t-shirt in public almost felt indecent since he usually only wore one after stealing it from Dwalin when he couldn’t be arsed to dress properly on lazy mornings. It felt a bit like walking out wearing just his underwear.

“You look pretty as usual,” Dwalin said and Bilbo smiled a little at his own transparency.  
  
“And you look very handsome if a bit… yellow,” Bilbo replied, nudging his shoulder into Dwalin’s side.  
  
“You’ll get to take it off me later,” Dwalin promised throatily and the low rumbling of his voice made Bilbo automatically press closer and tilt his head up for a kiss, stopping only when Tauriel cleared her throat.  
  
“Plane, train. This is for you, Bilbo.”  
  
Ignoring Dwalin’s muttered comment of how his plane wasn’t even leaving for another hour and a half she held out another boonie for Bilbo. It was pink. Very pink.  
  
“This isn’t very subtle,” he told her accusingly.  
  
“They’ll be so busy looking at the hat that they’ll not pay your pretty face any attention,” the redhead replied innocently and Dwalin made a strangled sound that was likely supposed to sound like a cough.  
  
“You need to hide your curls. Simple as that. Now scram before Dori comes back and cries on you.”  
  
“Be nice,” Bilbo scolded her, but he went up on his tip-toes to brush a kiss on her cheek.  “Thank you, and thank Dori for me again as well.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Tauriel said, smile creeping over her face. “Now I mean it though, get going. Everything will be waiting for you when you arrive.”  
  
“See you in four hours then?” Bilbo looked up at Dwalin. His _husband_. (No, that still hadn’t gotten old.)  
  
It really was extremely unfair that they would have to go their separate way. But, the rewards would hopefully be sweet and completely void of photographers.  
  
“Don’t talk to anyone on the train or we’ll see each other _and_ lots of other people we’d rather not see,” Dwalin warned. “Pretend to sleep or something. Or just be rude, the practice will do you good.”  
  
“I’ll buy a book,” Bilbo smiled. “And probably stare blankly at the pages. I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate enough to read.”  
  
“Bilbo, you’re making my teeth rot,” Tauriel complained. “Now _go_.”  
  
-  
  
He did buy a book, but it remained unopened on the small table by his seat and instead Bilbo spent the train ride gazing out the window on the landscape that they sped past.  
  
No one talked to him, or even seemed to pay much attention to the weird little man with the questionable taste in headwear, and Bilbo used the time to try and talk himself into behaving less like a lovesick teenager (had he paper and a pen he would likely be writing his and Dwalin’s names over and over again) and more like the adult, married man that he was. It went… it went. And, it could have gone _worse_.  
  
Once the train reached his destination Bilbo got from the train station to Bag End without anyone paying attention to him, or at least he assumed that was the case since he managed the walk in just ten minutes and without any conversations.   
  
Usually when he went back to Back End people stopped him for chats which could last for everything between a short how-do-you-do, to thirty minutes’ thorough discussion of the merits, or lack there-of, of being on television. Those conversations were definitely a downside of being back, that Bilbo couldn’t deny.  
  
Still, he loved Bag End. His entire childhood was to be found inside its walls and in Hobbiton. But, he had indeed left for a reason, and baked into that was all sorts of things he would try to avoid paying any mind to on his wedding day.  
  
Resisting the urge to look around to check if he was being observed; he was not a burglar, so he would not act like one, Bilbo unlocked the back door and slipped inside his childhood home.  
  
Dwalin would be along shortly, and Bilbo had things to do before that.  
  
Their bags were stacked neatly in the hall, and someone had obviously been by to air out the place and clean away the dust that had gathered since last time. Hopefully the neighbours had just taken it as part of the regular upkeep that Bilbo paid for. If they hadn’t… well, the two of them could always lock the door and pretend not to be home.  
  
Fortunately it was highly unlikely that any of them would inform the general public about his and Dwalin’s whereabouts. The people of Hobbiton might be nosy, sometimes overbearing, and with all too much fondness for other people’s business, but they took care of their own, and Bilbo was still counted as such even after ‘flouncing off to the decadent city life’.   
  
The blond considered putting a sign up; stating that they wished to be alone, but that would rather be like waving the red flag in front of the bull. Instead he localised his bag and took it with him to their bedroom.  
  
He’d almost finished undressing when his mobile rang.  
  
“Hello, darling,” Bilbo said warmly. “You’ve landed now?”  
  
“You could say that,” Dwalin replied with a heavy sigh, and Bilbo’s brows furrowed in concern. “Only, not at the right airport. We were delayed before take-off, and then something happened while we were flying, so I’m in Bree as they wanted to land on a bigger airport just in case.” Dwalin paused for a few moments.  
  
“I think it was the landing gear, but never mind that. There’s a connecting flight in three hours. How Thorin does this on a regular basis I will never understand.”  
  
“Three hours?” Bilbo asked, and even to himself he sounded small and sad, and indeed like a lovesick teenager.  
  
“Yeah.” Another pause. “Sorry.”  
  
“Not your fault,” Bilbo said, sinking down on the bed. “Just, come as soon as you can.”  
  
“Is that what you’ll be saying later?” And Bilbo could _hear_ the smirk. The waggling eyebrows too.  
  
“You’re horrible,” he said fondly. “Absolutely horrible.”  
  
“And yours,” Dwalin said quietly. “All yours.”  
  
Bilbo let himself fall backwards and stared up at the wooden ceiling. He’d never done this as a teenager, lying on his bed, talking to cute boys. The corner of Bilbo’s mouth twitched as he imagined Dwalin’s reaction to being called a ‘cute boy’. He never thought he’d actually marry one.  
  
“I’ll wait here for you,” he promised, even though it was already a given.  
  
“I’m in the line for the rental car thing. If there are any free ones it’ll be quicker than flying.”  
  
“Good thing we didn’t have any champagne this morning then. Let me know what you’ll do?”  
  
“I will.” Dwalin snorted. “And if any neighbours come by, just tell them to bugger off. You’re too nice to them.”  
  
Bilbo hummed noncommittally. “Love you.”  
  
“Love you too, and I’ll be there before you know it.”  
  
“That better not be code for ‘I plan on breaking all sorts of traffic violations’,” Bilbo scolded. “I’ll not talk with you while you drive yourself off a cliff.”  
  
“There aren’t any cliffs around,” Dwalin replied. “Love, I’m almost at the front now, so I’ll-“  
  
The call disconnected with a rude beep and Bilbo frowned down at the stupid phone. He hadn’t even pressed anything this time. But never mind, Dwalin would just call him back later.  
  
About ten minutes later the phone chirped again, now with a text.  
  
 _‘See you soon xxx’._

So he’d gotten a car. And the drive would take about two hours. Bilbo got off the bed with a sigh. He might as well prepare a late lunch. And as long as someone had properly restocked the pantry he could also make a batch of cookies.  
  
-  
  
He’d just taken the last ones out of the oven when the doorbell rang.  
  
Clearly he should have made a sign after all. With an annoyed sigh Bilbo went to collect his robe. He hadn’t bothered to dress completely, just pulling on the t-shirt again as the kitchen window had thick thorny bushes in front of them. If anyone wanted to peek on him baking in just his pants and said t-shirt they would have to pay a prickly price for it.  
  
Still, that didn’t mean he was planning on entertaining (shooing away) company half-dressed.  
  
"No thank you!” Bilbo called as he walked towards the door, fastening the robe's belt. “I don't want any visitors, well-wishers-“ he flicked the lock open, steeling himself to not let whoever it was inside even if it took being rude to get rid of them “- or distant relations!"

"And what about very impatient  _husbands_?" a familiar voice asked.

"Dwalin!" Bilbo breathed, unceremoniously pulling the door open, just barely avoiding to hit himself with it.

 _"_ At your service," Dwalin grinned, and even in the stupid hat that Tauriel had made him wear and the completely dreadful clothes, he was- Bilbo didn't even have the  _words_. But he was here.

"Omph!" Dwalin said as Bilbo fisted his hands in the mustard yellow (horrid, frumpy) shirt and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut.   
  
Even before it had properly closed Bilbo was already straining up to kiss the grin of his husband’s face (really, this was not the time to  _tease,_ and Dwalin very well knew what saying _that_ did to him).   
  
Only when Dwalin replied did Bilbo realise that he’d been murmuring ‘How?’ over and over between kisses. It hadn’t even been forty minutes since Dwalin’s text, how had he gotten here so quickly?  
  
“They changed the time for the flight. Practically shoving us onto the plane. I’d complain about bad service and poor information but… I guess I can’t argue with the results.” Dwalin opened his mouth to say something else, paused, sniffed. “Cookies?”  
  
Big hands twitched on Bilbo's hips.  
  
“Later,” Bilbo said firmly, plucking the hat off Dwalin’s head and let it drop to the floor. “Much later. Bed now.”  
  
Dwalin’s gaze slid downward and the look in his eyes turned from interested to smouldering. “Agreed. I know I said you look pretty in the shirt, but I think you’d look prettier out of it. And without the robe too. And I could be talked into foregoing the bed for any reasonably flat surface.”  
  
“And I’m going to _burn_ your shirt,” Bilbo informed his husband calmly as he fisted his hand in it to pull him along, which only succeeded because Dwalin went willingly, reaching up to take Bilbo’s hand in his own. “And we’re going to the bed.”  
  
“Shirt did its job though,” Dwalin remarked. “I don’t think anyone really recognized me.”  
  
“Why did you ring the bell?” Bilbo asked, rubbing his thumb over the edge of Dwalin’s rings.  
  
“No key,” Dwalin chuckled. “I’ve never been here without you, and I only realised I didn’t have one when the bus dropped me down at the road.”  
  
“Remind me about that later, and we’ll fix that. I-“ Now it was Bilbo’s turn for a startled exclamation as Dwalin suddenly swung him off his feet and up into strong arms.  
  
“You’re _not_ carrying me over any thresholds,” Bilbo told him, using his sternest voice, the one he usually reserved for Frodo when the lad was being particularly stubborn. Then his eyes widened. “The door, it's still unlocked. If anyone comes by-“

“Then they'll learn not to barge into someone's house uninvited,” Dwalin muttered, but he was already letting him back down again.

“Go and get rid of that shirt,” Bilbo told him. “I'll be right with you.”

“Just the shirt?” Dwalin grinned, pulling it up and revealing a sliver of skin, and the jut of a sturdy hipbone.  
  
“Well-“ A thought stumbled its way into Bilbo’s head. “Are you wearing pants today?”  
  
Dwalin let the shirt fall back down and hooked a thumb into the pocket of his jeans. “Maybe?”  
  
“Did you marry me without wearing underwear?”  
  
The grin broadened. “Why don’t you find out?”  
  
Bilbo shook his head with mock-exasperation. “Go and get undressed and I’ll bring a cookie when I come back, fresh from the oven. And really, I do very much appreciate that you’re older than me, because bribing a younger lover with cookies would just have been _wrong_.” He went up on his toes and pressed a quick kiss to Dwalin’s lips, dancing away when his husband moved to catch him again.  
  
“Be right back,” Bilbo promised, backing away down the hallway, his gaze dropping lower when Dwalin began undoing his belt. “You won’t even know I’m gone.”  
  
“Take too long and I might start without you,” Dwalin warned. “I’ve been half-hard since this morning I think. Kept thinking about you.”  
  
“Picture your brother in a bikini,” Bilbo suggested, laughing brightly at Dwalin’s groan once the image had settled.  
  
-  
  
After hesitating for a moment on his way to the front door, Bilbo scurried into his study to write a quick sign after all.

_‘Newlyweds.  
Ring bell at your own risk.’_

As he was taping it to the door the blond reflected on how; in another life, the equivalent of this would have been a small notice in the local paper, and that would have been the beginning and the end of the publicity. Only, there would have been no Dwalin waiting for him in the bedroom if that had been the case.  
  
The name next to his maybe would perhaps even have belonged to some poor girl who he'd end up making dreadfully unhappy. And even if it would not have been, it would definitly not have belonged to the wild-looking, tattooed, sweet man who was hopefully getting undressed at that very moment.

Because what were the chances that Dwalin would have wandered into his life, had Bilbo remained in Hobbiton?  
  
Unless he’d just made cookies, then maybe the smell would have lured him in from far and away.

With a small smile Bilbo shut the door again and locked it.  
  
"Please tell me you're out of that shirt now?" he called down into the hallway.

"Come and find out!"

 Bilbo's smile widened into a grin. "Oh, I plan to!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain loves AUs of my own AUs.  
> If Bilbo had never left Hobbiton, I think Dwalin would have ended up filming an episode of his show there. And Bilbo wouldn't want to seem nosy, so he wouldn't be amongst the people casually wandering by the house in question, but... he would have seen Dwalin and Dwalin would have seen him, and then maybe one night as Bilbo sat down to eat dinner, there would be someone at the door.  
> Someone who had perhaps accidentally-on-purpose gotten himself 'lost' while on an evening walk. (all houses look much the same after all) And it's only polite to offer him to stay for dinner.
> 
> And the rest would be history.
> 
> Ficlet of this is now available: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1021973/chapters/2417522


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not listening to me,” Dwalin said quietly. 
> 
> “Perhaps I don’t want to hear you calling me selfish and irresponsible,” Bilbo said and grabbed his plate. He carried it over to the sink in silence, his back turned to Dwalin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, huge chapter. You've been warned. And there's probably grammar/spelling errors, you have now been doubly warned.

Dwalin was going to murder someone, and then he was going to feed them to the seagulls (vultures were somewhat in short supply, more’s the pity).   
  
“You can’t be serious,” he said to Tauriel, Tauriel who should _not_ be in Hobbiton, and especially not at Bag End. “They can’t have _lost_ them. That’s- how does that happen?”  
  
“Believe me, some people are desperately trying to find that out,” Tauriel said drily. “But unless someone pulls a miracle, most footage of this season’s first eight AtYS episodes will remain… well it won’t remain, that’s the point. It’s gone.”  
  
“I’m on my honeymoon,” Dwalin growled, and Tauriel’s face softened.   
  
“I know, of course I know, and I’m sorry to come here, but if we’re going to pull this off, and have something close to a complete season, you need to come and film. Then you can go back to the hubby.”  
  
“Please don’t call me that,” Bilbo murmured from where he was curled up in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. It was the first thing he’d said since Tauriel had begun her tale of how some _idiots_ – and oh, if Dwalin _ever_ found out who they were… – had somehow managed the impossible and lost or destroyed already filmed, but not aired, episodes of his show.   
  
Episodes that apparently had no copies. It was fucking unbelievable! Everything had copies. Everything! Had the idiots actually managed to destroy those as well?  
  
Never before had Dwalin felt such a strong impulse to call his lawyer and try to sue someone. Anyone would do. Perhaps that’s why Tauriel had come in person, to try and wrestle the phone from him should he try.  
  
That the episodes were gone wasn’t the worst thing though. The worst fucking thing was that Dwalin _knew_ that he was contractedly obliged to go along with this bullshit. Tauriel was just nice enough not to push it in his face, which probably meant that she’d been abducted by aliens during the week that he and Bilbo had been sheltered away in Hobbiton. Or she was afraid that he would try and sue _her_.  
  
One week. One single week. That would be their honeymoon. Because they wouldn’t be able to return to this after he’d finished the filming some way too fucking long weeks away in the future.  
  
The stunt they’d pulled to get to Hobbiton without anyone noticing… on hindsight it shouldn’t really have worked, someone ought to have recognized them, and Dwalin didn’t give their odds of pulling it off a second time much credit.   
  
Perhaps if they drove the entire way… but that would take quite a bit of time and was hardly how Dwalin wanted to spend his honeymoon. And it would be moot anyway if anyone saw him leaving Hobbiton on his way to wherever the fuck they were going to ask him to go. And with him filming and their marriage, the media attention would probably soar again.  
  
People knew that Bilbo grow up in Hobbiton, that he still had a house there, it would only be a matter of time before some bastard of a reporter got the brilliant idea in their head that a little trip might just pay off.   
  
Bloody. Fucking. _Hell_.  
  
“Is it even possible to get this to work?” Dwalin asked tiredly as he slumped back into the couch. “I’m not doing it if it’ll doubtlessly end up like crap anyway.”  
  
“It’s possible, but probably not very enjoyable,” Tauriel said with a sigh. “They’re not doing eight new episodes, just five. For ten in total. And one of those will be a ‘special’ show. You commenting on material they’ll film at the finished projects, the ones for the episodes that were lost. And there’ll be interviews with the people involved as well.”  
  
“Just basically four then.” Dwalin snorted. “Great. And I assume I’ll be shuffled around the country? Or have they found some projects closer to home?”  
  
Tauriel shook her head, and crossed her arms over her chest.   
  
“They’re just picking up where next season would have been. No time to chase for something entirely new. Contracts have been signed, so they’re rolling with it.”

With a small sigh Bilbo unfolded himself from the armchair and trotted over to where Dwalin was sitting. Dwalin reflexively opened his arms and Bilbo curled into his side with the grace and ease acquired through the thousands of times they done that move before. It wasn’t just their rings that were proof that they belonged together. It was just one of the final pieces. And Dwalin couldn’t believe that he’d need to leave Bilbo so soon after- unless…  
  
“You could come with me?” Dwalin suggested to Bilbo. “When we shoot. Couldn’t he?” he added, looking at Tauriel.  
  
“If you want to, I’ll certainly do my best to make it happen,” she replied while nodding thoughtfully. Good. Then she was already figuring out the best ways to steamroll everyone into going along with it.  
  
“D’ya wanna?” Dwalin asked, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of Bilbo’s forearm. “We might not see each other a lot, but we’d be able to eat together, go to bed together.”  
  
“I’d not be in the way?” Bilbo asked, looking between Dwalin and Tauriel. “It wouldn’t be like when we filmed that double-episode. I’d not really have anything to do.”  
  
“You could terrorize the caterers and teach them how to properly feed us?” Dwalin suggested, trying not to sound too eager. It wasn’t always bad, but it was bad enough compared to Bilbo’s food. “Or-“ he looked towards where Tauriel was standing. “Where are we going to end up at, bigger cities? Small?”  
  
“Just small cities,” Tauriel said with a shrug. “Next season was supposed to be all about the rural. You’ll get to drive a Jeep around and look all manly, or so I hear.”

“Want to come and watch me do that?” Dwalin asked Bilbo. “And save me from strangling someone when they make me do it two thousand times since they want to get the perfect angle?”  
  
“You mean save the other person,” Bilbo said, shaking his head. “How can I refuse such an offer. I’ll come, if they’ll let me.”  
  
“Oh, they are not going to have a choice in the matter,” Dwain promised. He would throw a fucking _hissy fit_ if that was what it took. “Tauriel?”  
  
“Your word and all that,” she drawled, pulling up her mobile from her trouser pocket.  
  
“Funny, I think that’s the first time I’ve actually heard that.” Dwalin narrowed his eyes.  
  
“Perhaps you’re not listening enough,” she huffed, before leaving the room to make what better be some  suitably threatening calls. Dwalin loved that girl, he really did. Even if she also drove him stark raving mad sometimes.  She was kinda like family that way. If slightly more well-adjusted. Slightly.   
  
“Thank you!” Bilbo called after her.

“Thank _you_ ,” Dwalin murmured to him. “And I’m really fucking sorry about this.”  
  
“Not your fault.” Bilbo shrugged, cuddling a little closer still. “But I wish they had better timing. Though I guess it could have been worse. If this had happened a week ago, I might have suggested that we’d just escape through the back door.”  
  
“Yeah, why didn’t we do that?” Dwalin glanced towards the back of the house. “That sounds like a good plan.”  
  
“Perhaps I blocked it from the outside!” Tauriel yelled from the other room. “No I wasn’t talking to you,” she added in a more normal tone, her voice then trailing off as she moved away, likely towards the back door to guard it.  
  
“See,” Dwalin complained. “That’s what I deal with.”  
  
“Dori would have- Oh, maybe I need to call him actually,” Bilbo said with a frown. “He’ll want to know where I’m going do. Not that _I_ know that yet, but still.”  
  
“Want to bet fifty quid that if you call him, the first thing he’s going to ask is if you’re okay?” Dwalin snorted. “He’s even more overprotective than Víli is over the lads. You’d be wearing a helmet if it wasn’t bad for your image. Covering the curls and all that.”  
  
“He’s just… concerned,” Bilbo defended, poking Dwalin in the side with a sharp elbow. “And he knows that if I call him on our honeymoon then something is not right.”  
  
“I take it that’s a no on the bet.”  
  
Bilbo snorted. “That’s a no.”

-  
  
If there’d been a bet, Bilbo would actually have won it, because the first thing Dori did was to tell Bilbo that he could be at Bag End in less than three hours.   
  
If that man ever got kids Dwalin rather suspected that they’d be wrapped in bubble wrap until they were old enough to get a senior citizen’s discount. How his brothers had ever been allowed to leave the house was a mystery as inexplicable as the madness that was the internet.  
  
-  
  
“Hey!” Éowyn called as they walked out of the baggage retrieval area. The blonde pushed away from the wall she’d been leaning against and walked towards them. “You made it!”  
  
Bilbo snickered when he saw the sign she was holding. Or more specifically the image above the word ‘CONGRATULATIONS’.  “Am I to assume that I’m the Marge in this relationship?”  
  
“He’s got no hair, and yours _is_ kind of fluffy,” Éowyn said with a shrug. “Even if it’s not blue. And both Dwalin and Homer yells a lot. We did what we could. Éomer voted for that girl and boy from that thing where the kids kill each other?”  
  
“Ah, _that_ thing,” Dwalin said drily. “And I have a beard. That’s hair.”  
  
“But then he and someone from the art department got in an argument about which one she was really in love with. Boys…” Éowyn continued with a sigh, ignoring Dwalin completely. Then she waggled her eyebrows. “I like my idea best though. You could be my housewife any time, Bilbo. Blue hair or not.”  
  
“After a sex change I’ll get right on that,” Bilbo said drily, lips twitching slightly at Dwalin’s muttered: ‘Hell no.’

“If you make me food, I promise not to peek beneath your dress,” Eowyn swore solemnly.  
  
Clearly it was time for a subject change.   
  
“How is Faramir?” Bilbo asked, neatly avoiding the sign Éowyn was holding to give her a hug.  
   
“Still a crappy cook, but since that’s about his only downside I’m just going to continue to take it as proof that he’s actually human.” Éowyn snickered directly into Bilbo’s ear. “Also, he took me horse riding. Who even does that?”  
  
“Someone who likes horses?”  
  
When they’d released each other she turned to Dwalin and stretched her arms out. “We’re not leaving until I get a hug. You’re _married_ now! I can’t believe it!”  
  
“Thank you,” Dwalin said wryly. “I think.”  
  
“Oh shush,” Éowyn giggled as he basically lifted her off her feet for the hug. “Congratulations! To you both! I’m so happy for you and we’ll have these shows done in no time so you can go back to shagging.”  
  
“Éowyn,” Bilbo scolded, feeling his cheeks heat slightly.  
  
“If you tell me that’s not what you’ve been doing- _aha_!” she called when Bilbo squirmed.   
  
“Next time we’re getting a cab,” Dwalin sighed, but Éowyn just beamed at him.   
  
“No you won’t. You’re thrilled to see me, admit it.”  
  
“You can still leave if you want to?” Dwalin offered and Bilbo took his hand.  
  
“For better or worse,” he promised, smiling at his husband.  
  
“ _Hey_!” Éowyn protested. “I’m not ‘worse’. I’m clearly better. We _could_ have sent Éomer.”  
  
-  
  
Unfortunately the ‘worse’ part came a little sooner than they ever could have expected. The very next day in fact. And it wasn’t Éomer.   
  
They were almost about to break for lunch when someone yelled for Dwalin across the house, loud enough that it made the sound crew collectively wince and a brief look of annoyance actually flashed over Lindir’s face before he composed himself into his normal state of serenity and calm.  
  
“Break!” he called.   
  
“ _Dwalin_!” One of the… maybe one of the catering people? Dwalin didn’t really recognize her, came running into the bedroom where they’d been pulling away an ugly carpet to reveal the hardwood floor.   
  
“It’s Bilbo,” the woman panted and Dwalin stiffened. His first thought had been that maybe Bilbo had actually taken him up on the teaching the caterers to cook part, and that not everyone had liked it, but that quickly gave way to alarm as he saw the scared look in the woman’s eyes.   
  
“He’s hurt. They called the ambulance.”  
  
“ _What?!_ ” Dwalin growled, already moving towards the door, ducking and weaving between lights and cameras and way too much people. “What the fuck happened?”  
  
“Fell and hit his head,” the girl explained as she kept pace with him. “Out by the pond. Concussion probably.”  
  
“Did he lose consciousness?” Bard asked, from Dwalin’s other side and Dwalin stopped listening when the answer came in the affirmative. He needed to get to Bilbo.   
  
-  
  
Later, much, much later, Dwalin would tease Bilbo about traumatizing the hell out of his crew - making all of them act like concerned chickens – simply by not looking where he put his overly large feet and thereby ending up tripping on a rock and knocking his head against another rock.   
  
Yeah, sometime before the end of the world that would probably be funny. But as Dwalin stormed out of the house and into the garden, and saw Bilbo lying on the ground, all he could think of was that all the people needed to get the _hell_ away from his husband before he simply tossed them over the fence. Someone said something about insurance and he just about punched them.  
  
It was a relief to see that Bilbo’s eyes were open and that his breathing seemed slow and steady. In the short amount of time that it’d taken Dwalin to get from the house and to his husband he’d been imagining all sorts of horrible things that he now would probably have nightmares about for the foreseeable future.   
  
“Hello there,” Bilbo said quietly when Dwalin sank to his knees beside him. “I’m alright, really.” However he couldn’t hide the small wince that followed those words. Nor the blood that was slowly colouring the curls at one side of his head a terrible red. Fucking hell, he’d been joking about Bilbo wearing a helmet just before they left Hobbiton...  
  
“What happened?” Dwalin asked, trying his best not to shout. (He didn’t want to shout at Bilbo, not really, but he also didn’t want to _not_ -shout at Bilbo because why hadn’t he been more careful?)  
  
“He fell and hit his head,” someone told him, but Dwalin didn’t bother turning around to check who. “And since he actually lost conscious for a while-“  
  
“A _while_?” Dwalin growled, the tone of his voice at odds with the careful way he took Bilbo’s hand into his larger one. “And can someone get an ice pack?”  
  
“I’m _fine_ ,” Bilbo promised. “Well, my head hurts quite a bit, I can admit that. But-” When he tried to sit up half a dozen hands twitched in his direction, but it was Dwalin who gently clasped Bilbo’s shoulder with his free hand and urged him back down again.  
  
“I’m not sure you should be getting up.”  
  
“It’s not any worse than the time I smacked my head into the cupboard door,” Bilbo protested. “I didn’t need an ambulance for that.”  
  
“You didn’t faint when you did that.” Nor had he been bleeding this much as that had just resulted in a small cut.  
  
“No but-“ suddenly most of the colour dropped from Bilbo’s face, which made the red of the blood matting down his curls all that more evident. “I think I’m going to throw up.”  
  
He then proceeded to do just that, turning his head and just narrowly missing a rather pretty flowering plant of some sort. Not that Dwalin cared. He had one thought in his head and that began and ended with ‘Bilbo Bilbo Bilbo’.   
  
The only thing that stopped him from picking Bilbo up and carrying him to somewhere safe was that he knew you shouldn’t move people who had hit their head. (He chose not to dwell on the reasons why because those reasons were fucking horrible and no. Just, no.)  
  
“Okay,” Bilbo admitted shakily, wiping the back of his trembling hand over his mouth. “Perhaps not entirely like the last time I hit my head.”  
  
“Where is the fucking ambulance?” Dwalin growled.  
  
-  
  
Unsurprisingly the doctor at the hospital pronounced that he had a concussion.   
  
Bilbo had never had a concussion before, and it was not an experience that he cared to repeat. And he never _ever_ wanted to repeat the MRI scan again. The lights were too bright and the noises were too loud even outside of that thing. His head had felt like it was killing him during the scan.  
  
Bilbo had made the mistake of telling Dwalin that after they’d allowed them back in the same room again, and the look on his husband’s face had made him feel like he’d just stepped on a kitten. He hadn’t meant it like _that_ , it was just something you _said_.   
  
But his head really did hurt. And he couldn’t for the life of him remember the doctor’s name even though the man had told him twice. He still remembered what year it was and other similar questions that they’d asked him, so at least that was somewhat of a net win.

On top of everything else Bilbo felt exhausted and nauseous. He’d thankfully not thrown up again as once was plenty, especially when surrounded by people who he didn’t really know. Apart from Dwalin of course. But all things considered Bilbo could have lived with never throwing up in front of him either. At least no photographers had been nearby. And someone other than him was going to get to tell Dori about it. And Dori wouldn’t be allowed to yell at him for several weeks at least.

“You need to get plenty of rest,” the doctor cautioned him. “Your brain does not appreciate being knocked around, so it would like _plenty_ of peace and quiet to try and sort itself out again.” Then the Doctor rattled off a long list of symptoms that he could expect, and some he would need to look out for, and depressingly enough Bilbo already recognised a whole bunch of the former ones.  
  
All the while Dwalin sat at his side, jaw clenched and hand firmly wrapped around one of Bilbo’s, nodding along with everything as if the doctor was telling them some of the most profound things that he’d ever heard.

“And you shouldn’t be alone, just in case-“  
  
“I’ll be staying with him.”  
  
“Dwalin, no, you can’t,” Bilbo protested weakly, because Dwalin couldn’t, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want it to happen. “You’re not nearly done filming, and-“  
  
“That doesn’t matter.”  
  
“But it does. I can stay with Bofur, or Balin. I know you need to do this, it’s fine.”  
  
“I need to take care of you,” Dwalin said stubbornly and Bilbo looked towards the doctor.  
  
“Do I really need to be looked after in that sense? I just need someone to poke me every now and again to make sure I’ve not lapsed into a coma, right?”  
  
“That’s not funny,” Dwalin said darkly. 

It was a little funny.  
  
“You need rest,” the doctor said, looking a bit uncomfortable about being caught in the middle their… discussion. “And as few sudden movements with your head as possible, absolutely no sports, and no reading, television, video games…”  
  
“Perhaps not Bofur then,” Bilbo murmured. “He’d go a bit bonkers from not being able to entertain me. And he might be busy working anyway. Though I guess-”  
  
“I’m telling you, we can go home and I can-“  
  
“Darling, we interrupted our honeymoon so you could film.” Bilbo twined their fingers together, squeezing gently.  He couldn’t be selfish, Dwalin needed to do what they’d left Bag End to do. “I _know_ you need to do this, and I’m fine, really. I’m just going to sleep, and sleep, and then when you’re done I’ll be all better.”  
  
“Um, no sexual relations either,” the doctor blurted, looking even more uncomfortable, and Dwalin sighed.   
  
“I really don’t like the idea of leaving you alone.”  
  
“But I’ll be with Balin,” Bilbo promised. “Or Dori or Tauriel if he’s busy.” He winced as a sudden spike of pain decided to drive itself through his brain. “But I’d prefer Balin because those two would just mother me two death.”  
  
“Also not funny, and I _don’t_ like this,” Dwalin muttered, and Bilbo leaned into his side.  
  
“I don’t either, but what’s happened has happened. It’ll be over soon and then we’ll just forget that this entire thing happened.”  
  
“Can I have your autographs?” the doctor suddenly blurted, face instantly turning the colour of a ripe tomato. “Oh, I’m sorry, that wasn’t- I’m _so_ sorry.”  
  
“It’s alright,” Bilbo said with a small smile. “And thank you very much for your help.”  
  
He just wanted to go home. But that wouldn’t happen because Dwalin needed to stay, and without Dwalin their house just wouldn’t be the same. But he could deal with it. He’d lived most of his life without Dwalin, he could handle a few weeks. Right?  
  
-  
  
Okay, so Bilbo  wasn’t supposed to be on the computer to begin with, but he was just so bored. Bored, bored, bored. And Balin had gone out to get some groceries...  
  
It’d been a week since Balin had moved in with him in their house, claiming that one recovered best in a familiar environment  and while Bilbo wasn’t about to argue, he suspected that the real reason was that Balin’s spare bedroom was filled with books from floor to ceiling. 

When looking back at that week that'd gone by since his homecoming Bilbo could say with quite some confidence that he had done absolutely nothing. It was the most amount of nothing that he’d ever done in his entire life and it was going to drive him insane.  
  
He wasn’t even allowed to look through a cookbook, much less actually cook anything or do anything fun or helpful, and sleeping and resting and snoozing was beginning to get old. And if Balin played the relaxation CD that Tauriel had left with forest sounds one more time he was going to make someone cut down some of the rainforest purely out of spite. That’d teach those birds to shut up.  
  
Okay, fine, he still felt tired and out of sorts, but his brain was going to decay if he couldn’t at least use it for a little bit. Just by checking the news. Just for a minute or so. No harm done, right?  
  
He’d no sooner loaded the front page before his eye caught on a photo of himself and Dwalin.

_‘Trouble in Paradise?’  
  
_ “Yeah,” Bilbo muttered. “Concussions. And how being overprotective is apparently a family trait.”   
  
There was after all a reason why he hadn’t used the computer while Balin was still in the house.

Call it morbid curiosity, but Bilbo clicked on the link. Or perhaps he could get away with calling it research? Because if the article didn’t mention Hobbiton at all then that would be a point in their favour for actually going back there.

Maybe he could get Dori to keep track of things like that. Or was there some sort of statistics for the internet? One of their fans would probably know what most of the recent articles said but there was probably not a way to ask since that would reveal why he wanted to know.

_‘Have one of our favourite celebrity couples split so soon after actually getting married? Sources say that Dwalin Fundinson-Baggins is already working on the next season of At Your Service, even though the current one has not even aired yet. While that could just be a devotion to his craft it_ doesn’t _seem like something that you’d interrupt your honeymoon for if everything was going smoothly.’  
  
_ Bilbo snorted. It was amazing how they could get the basics of it right and still end up with utter crap.  
  
‘ _And as for Bilbo Baggins-Fundinson, he seems to have simply dropped from the surface of the earth. He was briefly spotted with his husband on location in Gondor, but apparently did not decide to stay, and since then there has been radio silence. Is he hiding? And if so, what is he hiding from?’  
  
_ Well, he _would_ be hiding from Balin if it was revealed that he’d not stayed on the couch as he’d been told. _  
  
‘Could married life already be disagreeing with these two even though they’ve been together since shortly after Noah started shoving animals onto his ark? We simply do not know. But it’d be a shame if they did split up so soon after making honest men out of each other.’_  
  
Bilbo snorted again, then winced and pressed his palm to his forehead. Nothing new under the sun.   
  
When faced with nothing to write about; speculate and make things up. At least they’d picked a lovely photo of him and Dwalin. It was from some rare red carpet event (rare because getting Dwalin to put on a suit was like getting Dori to put on a T-shirt and socks that didn’t match – each other, not the T-shirt) and his husband was looking incredibly gorgeous in an iron grey suit perfectly tailored to show off his broad shoulders, and the shirt was just unbuttoned enough to give an intriguing hint of his chest.  
  
Such a shame that they’d not been able to have a more normal wedding. Since Dwalin had been pushing for a traditional one that would rather have had to included formal dress... But there was always later. Later when they didn’t need to work, when he wasn’t concussed, and when people had learnt to mind their own business.   
  
Well, two out of three wasn’t bad.  
  
With a sigh Bilbo clicked the link that would bring him some actual news. Enough mooning. At least for the next five minutes or so.  
  
-  
  
“Miss you,” Dwalin murmured into Bilbo’s ear. Okay, technically into his phone, which somehow sent the sound to Bilbo’s phone, which he held pressed to his ear, but still. If Bilbo concentrated _really_ hard (which he probably wasn’t supposed to do) and closed his eyes (which he honestly had had quite enough of lately) Bilbo could pretend that they _weren’t_ separated by half a country.   
  
“Bard keeps threatening to put happy pills in my food.”  
  
“Balin won’t let me cook.” Bilbo smiled slightly. “But I guess you win that one.”  
  
“Nah, if you’re forced to eat Balin’s food, you win. Oh, and I talked to Thorin yesterday, he wanted to know how you were doing. He’s apparently heading your way soon, lucky bastard that he is.”  
  
“I’ll text him then, tell him to stop by.” Bilbo hummed slightly. “Think he’ll be upset that I’m not going to be cooking? If we banded together then perhaps we could overthrow Balin and let me have access to the kitchen.”  
  
“Bilbo, Thorin is at least as protective of his family as Balin is, and if you’ve not gotten the memo yet, he’s been considering you family for quite some time.”  
  
“Oh,” Bilbo said, because he and Thorin did get a long pretty well, certainly a lot better than their first meeting when Thorin had trusted his intentions with Dwalin about as far as he could throw him, but he’d not really thought… Dwalin chuckled warmly.  
  
“Oh,” he agreed. “And he hates when people are sick. So if you’re thinking that we’ve been bad enough, just you wait.”  
  
“Surely he can’t be that bad?” Bilbo questioned.  
  
“Famous last words,” Dwalin said, and Bilbo could _hear_ the smirk.

-  
  
Famous last words indeed.  
  
“Thorin, you don’t need to have some doctor fly here to see me,” Bilbo protested. “I’m fine.”  
  
“You’re not fine,” Thorin said, his eyes narrowing. “You’re much too pale, and you’ve not even touched your bowl of soup.”  
  
“Because it’s my _third_ bowl,” Bilbo said exasperated. “And I’ve been inside for two weeks, of course I look pale.” Two weeks, and perhaps two more to go before Dwalin would be home again. While he’d still need to do some studio bits, he would still be there in the mornings and the evenings, and Bilbo could hardly wait.  
  
“Being cautious-“ Thorin began and Bilbo crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
“I’m pretty sure that arguing with me counts as something you’re not supposed to do with someone who’s got a concussion.”  
  
“Then stop arguing with me and I’ll stop arguing with you.”  
  
“I’m _fine_.”  
  
“Then eat your soup.”  
  
“I’m full!”   
  
Bilbo winced. Shouting was clearly not a good idea just yet. Thorin nodded, as if Bilbo had just proven him right on all accounts. “Soup doesn’t help against a concussion,” Bilbo pointed out in what he thought was a very composed and rational manner. “It’s just soup.”  
  
“Doctors help though.”  
  
“You’re not going to make some poor person fly here-”  
  
“I can find a local one if that works better for-“  
  
“No.”

  
“But-“  
  
“ _No_.”  
  
-  
  
“How’s the love affair going then?” Bofur asked, and Bilbo could hear the grin in his friend’s voice even though he couldn’t see it over the phone, just as he’d heard Dwalin’s smirk. Had he always been able to do that or was that a side effect of the concussion? Regardless:  
  
“ _Love affair_?”  
  
“Saw in the paper that Thorin had been by to visit you, and that some unknown man had also been seen at the house. Balin I assume?” Bofur tsked. “Shame, Bilbo, shame. And family all three of them.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Bilbo said and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps it wasn’t Balin. It could be any of the dozen lovers I’ve had 'round. Nothing is sexier than someone with a concussion after all. And it’s not like I’ve been hugging my pillow at night pretending that it’s Dwalin. That's completely undignified and I would never...”  
  
“I see I need to pay you a visit as well,” Bofur teased. “To see if you’re looking sexier than usual. I could take photos and make people vote.”  
  
“Please don’t,” Bilbo moaned and curled up in the couch, gently resting his head against the headrest. He was now allowed to just sit for longer periods at the time, and if there was anything the last few weeks had taught him it was that small victories were still victories; like not allowing Thorin to bring in a physician. (Bilbo had ended up eating the damned soup though.)   
  
“Are they really going on with the idea that Thorin and I were, or are, lovers? Can’t they make up someone more interesting if they absolutely have to make things up?”  
  
“What, like you’re all aliens?”   
  
“Well, that’s certainly interesting, I’ll give you that,” Bilbo said with a sigh. “They could write about you and Dori instead. When are you ever going to ask him out? It’s been years.”  
  
“We’re just friends,” Bofur said, but the wistful tone of his voice wasn’t really helping him sell that line.

“You’re just absolutely ridiculous, that’s what,” Bilbo muttered. “There’s no issue with the two of you dating. You’re a talk show host, not a, well, someone who’s opinion on things really matter.”  
  
“Thank you,” Bofur said drily, but Bilbo didn’t feel bad for him.   
  
“It’s not like you’d be less of an arse when I’m on your show. And we’re on the same network anyway. Or if _I_ dated Dori, then perhaps that would be a little strange, but seeing as I’m happily married-”  
  
“While still carrying on with half a dozen lovers,” Bofur said innocently.  
  
“Shut up,” Bilbo told his friend, very politely.   
  
“Dwalin’s been getting some headlines as well.”  
  
“ _Why_ are you reading this kind of a trash?” Bilbo asked, not really thinking that he’d get a sensible response.  
  
“How else am I going to find out that some girl over in-“ there was the sound of paper crinkling. “Crap, I can’t find it, but she was claiming that aliens had knocked her up and that one of them looked like Dwalin.”  
  
“Are you telling me that the bit about the aliens was actually something someone had published?”  
  
Bilbo closed his eyes and wished that he could thump his head against the edge of the couch. Hard.  
  
“Well, I guess you’re either aliens or you have alien look-a-likes, at least Dwalin. What do you think?”  
  
“Why am I friends with you?” Bilbo asked, not really thinking that this would get a sensible response either.  
  
“I imagine it’s a poor sense of self preservation,” Bofur mused. “If I didn’t know you half as well as I do I’d probably be nicer to you when you’re on my show. But you make it so easy, and you’re so much fun when you’re flustered.”  
  
“That’s a lie,” Bilbo accused. “The very first time I was on your show you wanted to know my opinoin about what the world’s sexiest food ought to be. Dori thought you were going to ask me about my book. You were _supposed_ to just ask me about my book. He was not well pleased.”  
  
“Everyone knew that the book was going to be good,” Bofur protested. “But no one knew that you thought that strawberry and champagne macaroni-“  
  
“Macaroons.”  
  
“Same thing.”  
  
“Hardly. Only one should be in a pot of boiling water. And only one is possible to romantically feed someone in bed.”  
  
“Details. You can’t get too caught up in the details, Bilbo.”  
  
“I’m sure that whoever printed that story about Dwalin as an alien thought the same thing.”  
  
If only Dwalin _was_ an alien, Bilbo thought a bit morosely. Then he could probably just zip between their house and wherever they were currently filming in a few seconds. Or he could just abduct all annoying reporters and dump them on Antarctica or something. But that would perhaps take too long. And be a bit too mean. Oh well.   
  
-  
  
“I could fly home over the weekend,” Dwalin offered, his voice sounding tinny and distant through the speaker phone.  
  
“And I would see you maybe five hours in total considering the time you’d need to spend on a plane.” Bilbo sighed and poked his fork at the omelette he’d made. He wasn’t very hungry.

“Two more weeks,” Dwalin said and Bilbo sighed again.  
  
“I know it’s not your fault, but that sounds familiar.”  
  
“Well, it’s either I’m home in two more weeks or you’ll be able to visit me in prison after I kill someone.”  
  
“Maybe I should just-“  
  
“You’re not coming out here, what if you hurt yourself again. And you’re still getting headaches.”  
  
“Not bad ones?” Bilbo tried. The silence following that felt very unimpressed. “I’d bring cookies?”  
  
“Bribery will not help,” Dwalin said firmly. “And for the record, I miss you more than the cookies.”  
  
Smiling slightly Bilbo poked at his omelette again. “Thank you, darling.”  
  
-  
  
When Dwalin did finally, finally, _finally_ get home it was in the middle of the night and Bilbo was, despite his best intentions, more than half-asleep. Despite that, since he'd not actually had had a headache for an entire week Bilbo had hoped that they’d actually would get to have some of those ‘sexual relations’ the doctor had said that they should avoid. He’d checked and that should be fine now, enough time had passed, his brain could handle it, but as he stepped into Dwalin’s embrace Bilbo realised that it was not going to happen.  
  
“How long have you been awake?” Bilbo murmured, because Dwalin smelt of coffee, and he absolutely hated coffee and only drank it when he desperately needed to keep himself awake. And it was always followed by a sudden crash into unconsciousness.  
  
“I don’t even know,” Dwalin said. “But way too fucking long. Three goddamn connecting flights. I want a private jet. I’m sorry. I wanted-”  
  
“We’ll just go to bed and sleep and then in morning I’ll make us breakfast,” Bilbo promised. “Balin went shopping for me before.  And then I’ll show you how much I missed you.”  
  
“Can’t you do that before breakfast?” Dwalin muttered, gently tilting Bilbo’s head up for a chaste kiss. “God, I’ve missed you so much. But I’m about to fall asleep on my feet.”  
  
“Come on then,” Bilbo said, tangling their hands together and pulling Dwalin towards the stairs.  “Imagine if you actually did fell asleep and ended up falling and hitting _your_ head. That’d be a sight.”  
  
“You feeling alright then?” Dwalin asked, ending the sentence with a huge yawn.  
  
“Never better,” Bilbo promised, squeezing  Dwalin’s hand. He was finally home. It was almost too good to be true. “I promise.”  
  
“Good,” Dwalin murmured. “God, I’ve missed you. Can we never to this again?” Another yawn gave Bilbo a good view of his husband’s tonsils. “I had plans. I wanted to suck you off, and-“  
  
“Tomorrow,” Bilbo promised. “Or is it today? I don’t even know.”  
  
“Who the hell cares,” Dwalin said as they stumbled into the bedroom. “Crap, did you lock the door?”  
  
“You did. I saw you do it.” Bilbo shook his head. “Okay, clothes off and get in bed.”  
  
“Well, that was how my plans started.” Another yawn. “Fucking hell.”  
  
When they’d gotten undressed and squirmed beneath the covers; not bothering to push the bedspread all the way down the bed, Bilbo tucked himself against Dwalin’s side with his head pressed against the larger man’s chest. The steady lub dub of Dwalin’s heart almost instantly put him to sleep. Take that annoying rainforest birds.  
  
-

“Thorin was probably the worst though,” Bilbo snickered. “I don’t see why you say Víli is the worst. He seems very reasonable in comparison.”   
  
“But Víli didn’t come around to mother you, did he?” Dwalin said smugly. “If he had you’d know what I meant. You’ve just met him when everything was fine and dandy.”  
  
“I’m fairly sure he can’t be worse.”  
  
Dwalin shook his head. “If Thorin ever have kids… the first time they get a bruise he’d probably forget everything he’d learnt from seeing Fíli and Kíli grow up and try and buy them a private hospital or something.“  
  
“How is that not worse?”  
  
“Oh if Dís hadn’t stopped him then Víli would have pretty much tried to do the same. He had three docs on speed dial until Fíli was six I think. Then he added two more.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Fíli broke his arm that year, falling out of a tree.” Dwalin snorted. “All the trees around their house would have been gone the next day if Dís hadn’t stopped it.”  
  
“When we have children, what do you think- what?” Bilbo asked, because the teasing mood was suddenly gone from the kitchen. Instead Dwalin was looking awkwardly down on his dinner.  
  
“I’ve been thinking.”  
  
“About?”  
  
“Can we really- _should_ we get kids?”  
  
“We’ve always said-“ Bilbo began, because they’d talked about it many times. About how both of them wanted to have children, how they were going to apply to adopt a child as soon as they both agreed that it was the right time for it. As far as Bilbo was concerned that time was getting very close and he didn’t understand-

“But is it fair on the kid?” Dwalin said, pushing the remaining meatballs around on his plate. “Thorin, Dís and Frerin grow up with a lot of media attention, and it was hard on them. But that was almost mild compared to some of the things I’ve seen written about us. Is it fair of us to bring a kid in the middle of that?”  
  
Bilbo slowly put his fork down and reached out to touch Dwalin’s hand. “What’s this coming from? It’s not like anything has changed. We’re public figures, apparently we sell newspapers. That’s nothing new. You’ve never mentioned it before.”  
  
“It’d not just the media thing,” Dwalin explained. “I’ve been away from you almost a month, imagine if-“  
  
“But that was hardly a usual occurrence,” Bilbo protested.

“But we do a fair bit of traveling anyway, both of us.”  
  
“That’s also nothing new.” Bilbo brushed his thumb over Dwalin’s knuckles. “Dwalin, we’ve talked about this. What’s changed?”   
  
Why have _you_ changed your mind? Was what Bilbo really wanted to ask. Of course Dwalin was allowed change his mind, but… if he did… If he changed his mind about something like this, something they’d both agreed on, and talked about, over and over again. Something they’d planned, even if they’d not known exactly when those plans could happen. If he could change his mind about something like that, did that mean that he could change his mind about other things?  
  
Bilbo glanced down at his left hand where two golden rings gleamed softly on his finger. Dwalin had wanted kids. They both had, but it was possible that Dwalin wanted it just that tiny bit more.  
  
Absurdly enough that gossipy piece of trash that Bofur had told him about surfaced in his mind. The one about the girl claiming that the father of her baby was an alien that looked like Dwalin.

What if- what if Dwalin wanted children bad enough that he’d consider having them with someone else? Someone who didn’t have a horde of people writing about them on the internet, someone who could balance the attention Dwalin was getting without adding to it. Not a girl, but-

 No. Bilbo shook his head. No he couldn’t think like that. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”  
  
Dwalin shrugged helplessly. “It’s just, is it fair? Making them grow up surrounded by all sorts of stories about their dads? I saw a headline in the airport just yesterday about how we were getting a divorce. I don’t want my kids reading that crap. I know it was bad enough for Thorin growing up at times without that particular kind of sensational crap. Everyone knowing who you are, knowing you for something your parents did or didn’t do.”

”You’re saying I’m selfish then,” Bilbo said, stung, pulling his hand back from Dwalin’s. “That I’d put my own happiness over our child’s.”  
  
“No,” Dwalin protested. “But I’m not certain you understand what I’m saying. You grew up in Hobbiton for fuck’s sake.”  
  
“A place full of gossip if any,” Bilbo said and folded his arms over his chest. “It’s not just famous people that get gossiped about.”  
  
“No, but when Thorin’, Dís’ and Frerin´s parents died that was on every damn headline in the country. Thorin was fucking 17, and he-“  
  
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Bilbo interrupted. “A thing like that is tragic no matter-“  
  
“But usually people won’t shove a microphone in your face after your parents has died in a car accident. There’s a reason why Dís and Glóin are the only ones with kids, they were young enough that-”  
  
“You _are_ calling me selfish.”  
  
“No!” Dwalin growled. “You’re not listening.”  
  
“You really think a child would be better off with someone else? Someone not us? Despite that we’d love him or her and do everything to make them happy?”  
  
“So you could give up your career for them?”  
  
Bilbo stared at Dwalin in something that almost felt like shock. Where was this coming from?  
  
“I don’t see why having children and being on television have to be two mutually exclusive things. It seems to be that plenty of people handle it very well. And might I remind you that it wasn’t my work that just led me to not being home for a month.”  
  
The only thing they’d talked about before was working less, not stopping working at all. Not that he’d ever pick work over a child, but still, this was ridiculous.  
  
“And we’re not even that famous,” Bilbo added after a moment’s thought. “Plenty of people get more press than we do, and some of them have children. Kings have children, presidents have children-”  
  
“So that some people are irresponsible-“  
  
“How can you call them irresponsible when you don’t know-“  
  
“Because-“  
  
“No, you’re just doing the same thing as the magazines do. You’re making things up!”  
  
There was a few moments silence in the kitchen.  
  
“You’re not listening to me,” Dwalin said quietly.   
  
“Perhaps I don’t want to hear you calling me selfish and irresponsible,” Bilbo said and grabbed his plate. He carried it over to the sink in silence, his back turned to Dwalin.  
  
“I never said that.” Dwalin sounded tired, like it was Bilbo who was being unreasonable.  
  
“No, you didn’t need to.” Bilbo bit his lip. “I want to have children. With you. I think that we’ll make good parents. You used to agree. I just don’t _understand_."  
  
Dwalin sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to. But can we honestly say that it’s fair? I don’t even know how many articles I’ve seen in the last few weeks about you cheating on me, or me cheating on your, or-“  
  
“But that’s not true!”  
  
“People still believe it though.”  
  
“People believe in fairies and unicorns,” Bilbo said, turning around to face Dwalin. “People are not something to take into consideration. Did someone _say_ something to you?”  
  
It wouldn’t be like Dwalin to care about someone’s opinion like that, not unless he knew them, and no one they knew would-  
  
“Nah,” Dwalin shrugged one shoulder, and one corner of his mouth pulled up in a bad imitation of a smile. “Plenty of time to think lately. And you know I’m not the fastest of thinkers.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” Bilbo had to consciously unclench his jaw. “And you know I hate it when you talk that way about yourself.”  
  
“I’m nothing special though,” Dwalin said quietly. “I like what I do since I basically get to do what I want and have the budget to back it, but I’d not care if I just went back to doing before someone decided I would be suitable for the telly. You-“  
  
“I don’t care about things like that either!” Bilbo exclaimed. “I don’t!”  
  
“But you’re so happy when you’re writing your books and trying new things. And you couldn’t-“  
  
“Don’t tell me what I can or cannot do,” Bilbo said tightly. “I’m- I’m going for a walk.”  
  
“You- We should finish talking about this,” Dwalin protested, getting up from the table.  
  
“No. If you’ve had a month to think about this, don’t you think I deserve some time as well?” Bilbo snapped his fingers. “In fact, I think I’ll go back to Bag End for a few days. Yes. That sounds about right.”  
  
Dwalin’s jaw clenched. “Fine.”  
  
“Fine,” Bilbo said, storming out of the kitchen. He had a bag to pack.

-  
  
Two hours later Bilbo looked blindly out the train window and questioned  just when exactly he’d lost his mind. Or when Dwalin had. Either possibility seemed about as valid at that moment.

The last time he’d been on this train was when he’d been going on his honeymoon. Now he was speeding _away_ from Dwalin, his husband, who apparently no longer thought him a suitable parent. Who thought that he was too _selfish_ to ever want to stop working. Who thought that he _needed_ to stop working, if they would ever have a child. Who had apparently forgotten all the things they’d talked about before on the subject of having children.  
  
Biting his bottom lip Bilbo pressed his hand against the cold window and looked at his rings.   
  
What if Dwalin really would change his mind about other things as well?  
  
-  
  
“Oakenshield,” came Thorin’s voice as he picked up the phone and Dwalin cleared his throat as he realised he’d not actually said a word all day. Now it was… well, way too fucking late, and he couldn’t sleep.   
  
It’d been three days since Bilbo had left and something inside Dwalin’s stomach was just getting more and more tightly coiled. What if Bilbo didn’t want to come back? He’d not even said good-bye before he’d left. He’d just left. With a fairly large suitcase. What if it wouldn’t be for just a few days?   
  
He’d tried calling Bilbo several times but he’d not picked up, and so he’d begun leaving voice messages, to try and explain himself. But that hadn’t gone over very well if Dwalin judged by the single text he’d received earlier that day.   
  
_‘I think I’ve well understood that you don’t want to have children with me. Perhaps you could find someone better suited.’_  
  
And that was just so fucking wrong that Dwalin didn’t even know where to start. There was no one in the world that Dwalin wanted to have children with except for Bilbo. The wanting part was not the fucking issue. But how would it be fair to the kid?  
  
“So which part of the world are you terrorizing at the moment?” Dwalin asked quietly, feeling like his raspy voice echoed through the empty house.  
  
“Hong Kong,” Thorin replied. There was a brief pause. “Isn’t it the middle of the night for you?”  
  
“Nah, I think that was good few hours ago.”  
  
“What’s wrong? Isn’t Bilbo with you?”  
  
Dwalin stared suspiciously at his phone, no, the video wasn’t on, Thorin wouldn’t see that he was lying alone  on the couch (he’d not slept even a single night in the bed, it was too big and too… lonely and he'd just kept tossing and turning).   
  
“What makes you say that.”  
  
“Because if you’re calling me, or anyone in the middle of the night you need to talk about something, _really_ need to. And normally you’d be talking to your better half about it. I guess the hour means that Balin is asleep or otherwise you’d called him.”

No he bloody well wouldn’t because what Balin knew about the drawbacks of being famous couldn’t fill a thimble. 

“So tell me what’s happened. Now,” Thorin prompted when Dwalin first wouldn’t say anything.  
  
“We were talking about kids, about having them I mean.” Dwalin absently rubbed his thumb against his rings.   
  
“So? Bilbo wants to be a father as much as you do.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s kind of the problem I think.”  
  
“You’re not making sense.”  
  
“Why haven’t _you_ ever gotten any lil’ ones?” Dwalin asked, thinking that it’d be a good start of the explanation. Thorin would say that he didn’t want to put them through what he’d-  
  
“Because they’re not exactly handing them out at the corner store,” Thorin said drily. There was a moment’s silence. “I don’t have any children because I’ve never met anyone I’d want to have as the other parent. And only a fool would think me fit to be a single parent.”  
  
Dwalin blinked. “That’s it?”  
  
“What did you expect? And thank you very much for assuring me that I’d be a good father. Warms my heart.”  
  
“Of course you’d be a good father, as long as you stopped flitting about half the world every week. Dís’ boys love you."  
  
"Hang on.”  
  
Someone said something in the background of whatever place Thorin was in and for a minute or so Dwalin just listened to Thorin ranting about the proper colour of marble for bathtubs to that other person.   
  
“So what’s this really about?” Thorin asked once he’d scared the other person away, poor bastard.

“I’m not sure that Bilbo and I would make very good parents.”  
  
“You would. Even though you’re an idiot.” Thorin’s reply was swift and assured.   
  
“Thank you,” Dwalin muttered. “Seriously though. The gossip rags, the crazy fans. Weird hours and the travelling we need to do from time to time. Hardly fair to put a kid through that. You know what it was like for you, and Frerin and Dís. And Dáin as well.”  
  
Thorin sighed. “Yeah, but strangely I don’t regret being born. Dwalin,  no parents are perfect. If you were only allowed to have children when everything in your life was perfect no one would ever have children. Ultimately no one is going to give you a kid unless they think you’d make a good parent. And you’ll love that kid.”  
  
“How does that justify it?”  
  
“Because no matter what, the two of you would be good parents. Any child would be lucky to have you.”  
  
“But-“  
  
“No. You’re just being an idiot. Did you and Bilbo actually have a fight over this?”  
  
“I’m so glad I called you,” Dwalin muttered.  
  
“I’m always available to call you an idiot,” Thorin agreed. “If someone said that you shouldn’t have a kid because you’re gay, would you accept that?”  
  
“The hell I would,” Dwalin protested.

“Even though people might talk. Even though someone might point out to the kid that normally parents mean a father _and_ a mother? Even though there might be idiots who think-”

“That’s not the same thing,” Dwalin protested. “We can quit working, move to – I don’t know – somewhere else. The countryside.”  
  
“And you _could_ have married a woman and had a child the more traditional way.” Thorin hummed. “But you’re not going to. Because that’s not who you’re are. Now hang up and call Bilbo and tell him you’re an idiot. And tell him I was the one to set you straight so to speak. He owes me for this. Cookies would be suitable. And I want to have bragging rights later of how I saved your marriage, Frerin doesn’t think I can tell a relationship from a koala. His words, not mine.”  
  
“You’re the bloody idiot,” Dwalin grumbled. “And it’s the middle of the night, I can’t call him.”

And he probably wouldn’t answer anyway. Perhaps he shouldn’t have called so many times right at the start, Bilbo had been going away to think things over on his own after all… Maybe, maybe he should wait for Bilbo to call. And then they’d talk.

“Also, you’re not having any cookies.”  
  
“Goodbye, Dwalin,” Thorin said casually before hanging up. Bastard.  
  
-  
  
If an irrational behaviour was logical it wouldn’t really be irrational would it? Bilbo knew very well that he was being ridiculous, but he’d still been online for about two hours just hopping between gossip blogs and other places that all claimed that Dwalin was cheating on him.  
  
He knew that Dwalin would never cheat. That if… that if he ever fell in love with someone else he would break things off before starting something else. But that little irrational voice inside his chest told him something different.  
  
Just looking at the photos of Dwalin smiling or just standing next to someone that wasn’t him made  his heart ache. There were so many people who Dwalin could be with who would make a better parent than he would. Someone who Dwalin wouldn’t think was selfish. Someone who wouldn’t run away instead of talking about things. Someone-  
  
When his doorbell suddenly rang Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat, which was also irrational. Dwalin had a key. He wouldn’t ring the bell. And besides the door was open. But…  
  
“You’re both idiots,” Dori said as Bilbo opened the door and the blond sighed and gestured for Dori to come inside.   
  
“Hello, Dori, you don’t need to use the bell, you know that. And you didn’t need to come all the way here either.” Though to be perfectly honest Bilbo was a little surprised that Dori hadn’t come before.  
  
“What I know is that you’re being stupid, the both of you. Tauriel told me-“  
  
“So you’re going to listen to her instead of asking me what’s going on?”   
  
“How often is she wrong?” Dori asked pointedly and Bilbo shut the door with a little more force than needed.   
  
“That’s beside the point.” He was so tired of people not listening to him. He'd had way to much of that when he'd been concussed as well.  
  
“She’d have told Dwalin that he’s being an idiot too if he hadn’t refused to answer her calls and open the door. He keeps sending her rude replies to her texts though, so she’s hoping to wear him down into opening the door eventually.”  
  
Dwalin had stopped  calling him after the first three days. Hadn’t said a word about the text Bilbo had sent him. And _again_ irrationality reared its ugly little head because Bilbo hated the silence even though he’d been the one refusing to talk to Dwalin.

He used to be a sane person. Really.  
  
“Whatever’s wrong you’re not going to sort it out by being here,” Dori said firmly. “I’m saying this as your friend: go _home_. Talk about it.”  
  
“It’s not as easy as that,” Bilbo protested.  
  
“No, I imagine that it’s a lot easier for the both of you to just hide yourself away and pretend that it’s going to sort itself out, but-“  
  
“What if we can’t sort it out either?” Bilbo folded his arms over his chest, hugging himself. “What if we just can’t?”  
  
“Then you can’t,” Dori said and Bilbo just barely managed not to flinch. “But are you really not even going to _try_?”  
  
-

“Dwalin, open the door or I swear I will start reading from Shakespeare’s Hamlet until you let me inside.”  
  
“Go away, Balin,” Dwalin called from where he was sitting on the floor in the living room.   
  
He’d fallen asleep on the couch, holding a photo of him and Bilbo and woken up by the sound of glass shattering as the frame had tumbled to the floor. He’d been cleaning it up when Balin had appeared. When no one had answered the front door his brother had just gone around the house to press his big nose against the living room windows. And it was there he was still.

Dwalin could of course go upstairs, but the bedroom was upstairs. The bedroom with the bed that was much too large for just one. Even trying to sleep on Bilbo’s side hadn’t helped. The smell of him that still lingered on the pillow had just made everything that much worse.  
  
“I’ve not accidentally drown myself in the bathtub, you don’t need to babysit me!”  
  
“’TO BE OR NOT TO BE! THAT IS THE QUESTION!’”  
  
“If the neighbours report you to the police I’m not going to bail you out!”  
  
-  
  
 _‘Should I yell at Dwalin for being an arse or u?’  
  
‘No need to yell at anyone’_ Bilbo replied to Bofur’s text, and then he proceeded to shove his phone beneath two pillows when his friend rang. Maybe, maybe if he called Dwalin now they could talk about this. He would make Dwalin see that he understood that having children wasn’t going to be the easiest thing in the world, but why they still should. Why the could. Only, what if Dwalin still wouldn’t listen? Maybe that’s why he’d stopped calling.  
  
-

This wouldn’t work. Dwalin banged his head against the wall and awkwardly got up from the floor.  He couldn’t continue like this. _They_ couldn’t continue like this.  
  
-  


“Hello?” Bilbo called cautiously as he opened the front door, pulling his key from the lock as he stepped inside. He’d not told Dwalin that he was on his way back, so he hadn’t really expected to be greeted at the door, but surely Dwalin would hear the door being opened? “Dwalin?”  
  
Then Bilbo noticed that Dwalin’s favourite jacket was missing from its spot in the hall. He wasn’t home? Or… “Dwalin?” Bilbo called again as he walked into the kitchen. The empty kitchen. Except… There were two plates in the sink. And two wine glasses. Not one. Two.  
  
A look into the living room revealed it to be equally empty, even a little emptier than it should be. The photo of Dwalin and him that had been standing on the large chest of drawers was missing. And for some reason all the pillows from the couch seemed to have been tossed on the floor.  
  
No one was upstairs either. Dwalin wasn’t home. Which meant that he was somewhere else. Maybe... maybe with someone. The same someone who had eaten dinner with him. Bilbo unconsciously rubbed his thumb over his rings as he looked at their bed who seemed to have been slept in on both sides. There had to be a reasonable explanation.  
  
He’d just gotten down to the kitchen again when his mobile rang. _Dwalin_. And suddenly a million butterflies had decided to settle in Bilbo’s stomach.   
  
Dwalin’s first words did nothing to chase them away.  
  
“Where _are_ you?”  
  
“Where are _you_?” Bilbo demanded. “I come home and-“  
  
“You’re home?”  
  
“ _Yes_. But you’re obviously not here. And-” Bilbo bit his tongue and looked at the unwashed dishes. Thought about the unmade bed and the missing photo. There _had_ to be a reasonable explanation. Dwalin wouldn’t- “Where _are_ you?”  
  
-  
  
Balin was going to owe him such a huge favour after this, Dwalin thought darkly. Not only had he started in on Romeo and Juliet after an eternity of Hamlet, which had made Dwalin finally give in and let him in, but if it hadn’t been for Balin then he would be home right now, holding Bilbo in his arms and breathing in his smell (and not from a damned pillow) and they could finally talk about things proper-like. They could be fathers. They could. They would damn well make sure that it would work somehow.  
  
And he would personally sue the pants off the first newspaper to write something about their child. That’d teach the rest of them. And if it didn’t, they’d figure something out. They were good at figuring things out.   
  
“I’m at Bag End.”  
  
“What?” Bilbo sounded so confused Dwalin couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I figured I’d surprise you.”  
  
“I’m… surprised,” Bilbo said, and Dwalin snorted.  
  
“Yeah, so was I when I got here and was told by the neighbours that you up and left.”  
  
“I wanted to go home,” Bilbo said quietly. “I shouldn’t have gone in the first place.”  
  
“You- you needed to think,” Dwalin sighed. “I understand that. I do.”  
  
“Dori called me an idiot. He really likes you, if there was any ever doubt.”  
  
“I’ll show you Tauriel’s texts later.”  
  
For a long moment there was nothing but their sound of their breathing.  
  
“I’m done thinking now,” Bilbo said carefully and Dwalin’s free hand clenched into a fist.  
  
“Yeah? But can I-“  
  
“No, I think I need to say this? Is that okay?”  
  
He should have started by saying how sorry he was. Dwalin banged his head against the wall. That would have helped, right? What if Bilbo had only gone home to pack up more of his things. Though if that’d been the plan then he wouldn’t have been so upset about not finding him there.    
  
Unless, Dwalin suspected that Bilbo would never want to end a relationship, much less a marriage over the phone. So perhaps that was why. Please not let that be why.  
  
“I still don’t agree with what you said before,” Bilbo said, and Dwalin banged his head against the wall again. “I- I’m sorry. But I thought about it. As I’ve said. And I understand, at least I think I do, your point of view better now." Bilbo cleared his throat. "I wish I didn’t have to talk about this over the phone-“  
  
“I love you,” Dwalin blurted, closing his eyes.

“I love you too.”  
  
 It was the first time they’d said those words in… much too many days and Dwalin’s chest felt at least a little lighter for it.

“We would make good parents,” Bilbo said softly and Dwalin waited for the ‘but’. “I really believe that, but-“  
  
Fuck.  
  
“You need to believe that as well, or it’d never work. And I think-”  
  
“But I do,” Dwalin promised fervently. “I do.”  
  
The moment stretched.  
  
“We’ll find a way,” Dwalin said, gripping his phone hard enough to make his hand hurt. “We’ll make things work. I know we can.”  
  
-  
  
“You didn’t before,” Bilbo said cautiously, sitting down at the kitchen table. “In fact I remember somewhat of an argument on that very subject.”  
  
“It’s not like anyone would just give us a kid tomorrow. There’d be time leading up to it. I’m not saying that things can be exactly as they are, things would need to change but-”  
  
“Of course they would,” Bilbo agreed. “But, you think we could do it? You really think so? You, and… me?”  
  
“I do. I really do. _Only_ with you. I wouldn't want to do it with anyone else.”

“Oh.”  
  
-  
  
“Are we, are we okay?” Dwalin asked, bracing himself for the answer.  
  
“We would be better if we weren’t in different parts of the country,” Bilbo answered, and his voice was slightly shaky. “Maybe we can meet in the middle somewhere?”  
  
“But you wanted to go home?”  
  
Bilbo was silent for a moment. “Dwalin, you’re my home. The house wouldn’t be home if you weren’t there. Bag End isn’t home if you’re not there with me.”  
  
“I keep telling you, you should write real books and not just cookbooks,” Dwalin murmured.  
  
“They’re real books,” Bilbo protested, but Dwalin could hear the smile in his husband’s voice. The argument was old and well-rehearsed. Familiar.   
  
“You’re home for me as well. I- I didn’t, I couldn’t stand having people around, so it’s been awfully quiet without you. The only company I’ve had has been Balin, and that was just last night. He steamrolled his way into the house and invited himself for dinner. He was the one who convinced me to go to Bag End. So I’ll naturally have his beard for that idea.”  
  
It’d be romantic, he’d said. Bugger that to hell.  
  
“Oh,” Bilbo said, sounding… relieved? “He came over?  You cooked?”  
  
“He did. He practically blackmailed me into letting him inside, it was the least he could do.”  
  
“In the living room, the photo of us is missing,” Bilbo said slowly, half of a question in his voice and Dwalin grimaced.   
  
“Yeah, I- I feel asleep on the couch holding it and it fell to the floor. Sorry.”  Dwalin glanced at his watch. “I’d really like to fall asleep tonight holding you. I don’t know when the next plane leaves.”

“When I was concussed Thorin offered to have a doctor flown in.”  
  
“Er, yeah?” Dwalin blinked. “What’s that go to do with anything?”  
  
“If he could have done that, then he’s got to have access to a private plane?”  
  
“Just a helicopter.”  
  
“ _Just_?” Bilbo said with a snort. “Yeah, that’s really substandard.”  
  
“It’s hardly as fast as a jet. Hardly faster than driving.” Dwalin sighed. “Okay, I’ll go take a cab back to the airport, and we’ll see.”  
  
“Can we, keep talking? I don’t want to hang up, I know it’s silly but-“  
  
Dwalin smiled slightly. “Not sure how I’m supposed to call a cab then.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“I’ll call you right back,” Dwalin promised. “And then we’ll keep talking until the airport people make me switch it off.”  
  
“Don’t make them think you’re a terrorist.”  
  
“If it’ll make the plane fly wherever I want…”  
  
“Dwalin…”  
  
“Love you.”  
  
“Love you too.”  
  
They’d figure things out. That’s what they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> diemarysues wanted: angst. where they have a fight and almost (or do?) break up
> 
> and then a prompt from Syxx wanted to get involved: 5) Bilbo's set is outside in a garden that has a pound, well he falls in, smacks his head and off the hospital he goes....Tauriel just tells Dwalin that Bilbo is in this hospital, this would all be Dwalin's POV. I just want to see how he reacts to the news of Bilbo in the hospital and being told nothing else.
> 
> And somehow this chapter ended up being about a third of this entire story.  
> Yeah. 
> 
> Fair warning now, this story will likely be on somewhat of a hiatus as I'm going to try and focus more and more on the Hobbit Big Bang. So I guess it's suitable with a long chapter. Hopefully that makes up for it somewhat.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick one, for diemarysues. 
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day, peeps!

“Do you want to go to the zoo tomorrow?” Bilbo asked as they were eating dinner.

“The zoo?” Dwalin looked up from his chicken-something-or-other-in-French to look at his husband.  
  
“Yeah, I’ve never been and I thought it would be fun.”  
  
“You’ve _never_ been to the zoo?”   
  
Bilbo smiled. “You sound as if I’ve never seen the sky.”  
  
Dwalin huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, not quite. But how have you never been to a zoo? Didn’t your parents take you to one as a kid?”

He’d not ben to a zoo in years, but he and Balin had been frequent visitors as children, and he’d also brought Fíli and Kíli a few times when they were toddlers. The petting zoo was a blessing when it came to babysitting, well, up until that goat had started nibbling on Fíli’s hair. That’d not been a very popular move and after that the visits had stopped.  
  
“We didn’t have one in Hobbiton, which I’m sure will come as a great surprise to you considering that we have such amazing amenities as one whole book slash stationary shop, and one major road.”  
  
“It’s bloody amazing that Thorin managed to get lost last summer,” Dwalin mused. “I’ll never understand it. But you’ve never been to one in a nearby town? Or since you moved here?”  
  
Bilbo shook his head, one shoulder rising in a small shrug.

“How come I didn’t know you’ve never been then? I’m your husband, I should know these things.”  
  
“Getting married does not grant psychic powers,” Bilbo teased. “Only doing whatever it is that Tauriel does to get her magic powers will. But do you want to go? We don’t have to.”

“If you’d like to go that’s fine.” Dwalin stole some of Bilbo’s baby carrots and popped them in his mouth. “They looked lonely on your plate,” he defended when Bilbo bumped their feet together beneath the table and mock-glared at him. “I made reservations for dinner tomorrow. But we can do that afterwards.”  
  
Bilbo looked confused. “Why should we go out for dinner?”  
  
“It’s Valentine’s Day. We usually go out? Dinner and movie?”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Dwalin snorted. “So I take it that the special occasion wasn’t why you wanted to go to the zoo?” When Bilbo looked guilty Dwalin reached over the table and poked his arm.   
  
“Stop that look. It’s not like I had this planned weeks in advance. It’s just nice to do something normal once in a while. Dinner and a movie is about as normal as it comes, and most people dining out tomorrow will be too busy trying to get laid to bother with us. Though how you missed noticing that tomorrow is the 14th is a mystery. _Everything_ has been pink lately.”  
  
“I thought it was breast cancer awareness week.” Bilbo put his fork down and rested his elbow on the table, propping up his head. “We don’t have to go to the zoo.”  
  
“I think we do if you’ve never been. And we can just do dinner afterwards. Unless you plan to get eaten by a zebra.”  
  
“No, I thought I’d forgo my carrot disguise. Zebras eat carrots, right? Or maybe not since they’re hardly about to grow on the savannah...”  
  
Dwalin shrugged. "You’re the expert when it comes to eating.”  
  
“That’s not entirely true,” Bilbo murmured. “You’ve a very talented mouth, darling.”  
  
“Treat me right tomorrow and I’ll give a demonstration,” Dwalin promised, stealing another piece of carrot. Bilbo snickered.   
  
“Usually when people say that they don’t just chomp down on a baby carrot. They seductively _nibble_ on something phallic. And stop eating my carrots, there’s more in the kitchen.”  
  
Dwalin looked considering at the tiny carrot. “Not that it’d matter in the long run, but I’m glad you’re bigger than this.”

-  
  
“Not so fast,” Dwalin said, snagging Bilbo by the back of his coat when he was about to scamper off for the closest animal enclosure. “Since this is your first time we’re doing this properly.”  
  
Bilbo raised an eyebrow and glanced around to check that there were no children nearby. “If you're about get the lube and tell me to relax..."  
  
“And you complain about _my_ sense of humour.”  
  
“Darling, puns aren’t funny.” Bilbo’s eyes widened. “And _no_ animal related puns. They’re banned the rest of the day. Everything from monkey-business to… I don’t know, but to something.”  
  
“If you promise to do listen to me on how to properly visit the zoo.”  
  
“Deal.” Bilbo held is hand out and amused Dwalin took it, but instead of shaking on it he pulled Bilbo close and kissed him.  
  
“Deal,” Dwalin murmured.  
  
“I like zoos already,” Bilbo smiled. “Now I want to go and see the bears.”

 Dwalin shook his head. “Not before we buy you a stupid hat or a balloon. Those are the rules for first time visits.”  
  
“If we must,” Bilbo said, affecting weary resignation. “Oh, do they have candy?”  
  
-  
  
Bilbo looked adorable in a giraffe-style hat. Almost too adorable since he looked about 12. But that was all right since it fairly neatly countered the effects of watching him go down on the oversized lollipop that he’d found in the gift shop. Having an erection in public when there were loads of animals and kids around just wasn't a good idea.

There was a fairly good crowd of people in the zoo even though it was February and not even the weekend. Most of the people around were kids of course, but they weren’t the only couple meandering around and gawking at the animals. And fortunately the animals seemed to be the only thing that did get gawked at. Maybe a giraffe-hat was the ultimate disguise, powerful enough even to carry over to the person walking next to the one wearing it? More research was required.   
  
Some of the animals had pretty much closed up shop for the winter, and some of the side attractions as well; like the butterfly exhibition which was a pity. The idea of Bilbo laughing as a swarm of butterflies flew around him was a rather pleasing one.  
  
But they got to see the bears; several kinds in fact, and pygmy hedgehogs and wolves, and they ended up hanging around the petting zoo for such a long time that the staff got a bit nervous about having two grown men apparently stalk the place where the youngest children were. Then one of them seemed to recognize Bilbo, because the suspicious looks stopped and instead a tiny little twig of a girl dressed in the staff coveralls asked for his autograph, and after that he was allowed to continue to bond with the rabbits to his heart's pleasure.

“That was fun,” Bilbo remarked as they walked out of the gates. “Thank you.”  
  
“Was your idea,” Dwalin shrugged, wrapping his arm around Bilbo’s shoulder. “Now you should buy me lunch and I’ll buy you dinner and we’ll both get laid tonight.”  
  
“And if I don’t?”  
  
“Then I’m stealing your hat.”  
  
Bilbo’s hand flew up to guard the giraffe on his head. “You’re not stealing my hat.”  
  
Since someone had eventually recognized Bilbo, Dwalin didn’t really want to steal the hat. It was fucking ridiculous, that was the point of it, so if it wasn’t the ultimate disguise then Bilbo was free to keep it.  
  
“Then buy me lunch.”  
  
“What if I _make_ you lunch and we don’t wait until tonight to have sex?”  
  
“As long as you’re not wearing the hat.”  
  
"Deal."  
  
"Deal."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember this series?  
> I do!
> 
> Have a tiny story as a reminder.

"Did you know that there are people writing stories about us?"

"Yeah, they're called arsehole journalists."

"No, I mean, I think they're fans?"

"The journalists?"

"No, the people writing stories."

"Bilbo, I'm not following."

"Come look at this, someone tweeted it to me."

"Someone what now?"

"Twitter? The thing you keep muttering about how inane it is?"  
  
“You tweet a twitter?”  
  
“Well, not as- yes, yes you do. Come here.”

"Bossy," Dwalin smirked. He walked to stand next to Bilbo where he was poking at his laptop, peering down at the screen. "That's not the twitter thing. I know a twitter thing when I see one."

"I just said that someone sent me something. A link, to be more precise." Bilbo nodded down at the screen. He clicked something and pictures of the two of them appeared. Some were photos, some were drawings, some were…  
  
“That’s not my body,” Dwalin said, frowning. “What’s- why?”  
  
“Because they want to imagine what you look like naked?” Bilbo turned and grinned up at him. “I’m fairly sure I can’t blame them.”  
  
“But it doesn’t really look like me.”  
  
“Good. That means there’re no hidden cameras in the house.”

Click, the screen changed back to something a lot more word oriented.

"They write about us with other people too. Me with Bofur, and Thorin, and-"

Dwalin frowned down at the screen. "They write about you with other people?”  
  
“They write about you too. Apparently you and Bard are quite the thing,” Bilbo teased. “Bonding over power tools, at least according to a summary.”  
  
“Fans,” Dwalin said darkly. “You read any of it?”  
  
“I’m afraid to,” Bilbo admitted. “It’s strange, isn’t it? I’m not sure what would be more strange, stories where we don’t act like ourselves or stories where we do things I could actually imagine myself doing.”  
  
“Fans,” Dwalin said again, even more darkly.  
  
“By the way I thought you’d know about this? You’re always the one saying that people on the internet are weird.”  
  
“Have you _seen_ what they write in the forums?” Dwalin said. “But I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Wonder if Dori knows about this,” Bilbo said, attention on the screen again. “In this one I got my first show by sleeping with the boss.”  
  
“With _Saruman_?” Dwalin asked, horrified.  
  
“Some guy named Tom,” Bilbo said and shrugged. “I don’t know. Oh, in this one I can do magic.”  
  
“Pandora’s box,” Dwalin muttered and Bilbo hesitated before finally clicking.  
  
“I’ve always wanted to go to Hogwarts. Well, since Rowling wrote the books at least.”  
  
Dwalin sighed and Bilbo reached up to pat his arm. "You're in it too."  
  
"Somehow that's not comforting."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Valentine's Day for these two.

Dwalin’s jeans were entirely too tight as Bilbo slid the spoon out of his mouth only to drag the tip of his pink tongue up the length of it, licking at the melted vanilla ice cream, eyes fluttering close with pleasure. There was a smudge of white along his cheek. Dwalin wasn't sure when it'd appeared but he wanted to lick it, lick down Bilbo's jaw and not stop until he arrived at his cock.  
  
Fuck. There was porn less graphic than what he was currently watching.  
  
And the _noises_  Bilbo made with every spoonful; moans and breathy little sighs, those could have been lifted straight out of a skin flick. Oh, fucking hell, that was a _whimper_ , this wasn't fair.

To sum up Dwalin's current situation; going out for dinner had either been great idea or one of the worst idea ever.  
  
Dwalin tried to surreptitiously glance around the restaurant. He was pretty sure that people were staring, but he wasn’t sure if that was due to them being recognised off the telly, or just because of the show Bilbo was putting on as he molested his ice cream. Or possibly was molested _by_ his ice cream, Dwalin wasn't entirely sure.  
  
“Mmm,” Bilbo sighed as he put his spoon away in the empty bowl. “I should do a dessert book. Why have I not done one already when just chocolate and ice cream is that good?”  
  
He frowned in concern when he noticed that Dwalin had hardly (hah!) touched his dessert. “Dwalin, is something wrong?”  
  
Dwalin, a little busy trying to figure out if Bilbo making an entire book about dessert would require an audiobook version where Bilbo moaned along during applicable passages, missed the question entirely.  
  
“Darling?”  
  
“Huh?” Dwalin snapped out of his thoughts when Bilbo nudged their feet together underneath the table.  
  
“You’ve not had your dessert,” Bilbo said, nodding down at Dwalin’s mostly melted ice cream. “Are you feeling all right? It was very good ice cream.”  
  
“Oh I _know_ ,” Dwalin rumbled.   
  
He entertained a thought about flagging someone down to ask for a doggy bag to bring the ice cream home in. It wouldn’t matter if it was melted, because what he’d like to do was to pour it on himself and offer Bilbo a taste. But… “We've ice cream at home right?”  
  
Bilbo blinked. “Yes? I think we do.”  
  
“Good,” Dwalin said before nudging his plate over to Bilbo’s side of the table. “You can have this then.”  
  
Dwalin spread his legs a little wider to try and make some room for his ever-more interested dick.   
  
It was quite possible that he'd need to 'accidentally' spill some ice water on himself before they had to get up from the table, but it was a sacrifice he was prepared to make.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Gay Naked Threesome Incestuous Three-way Drama](https://archiveofourown.org/works/965364) by [diemarysues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues)
  * [Taste](https://archiveofourown.org/works/973796) by [diemarysues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues)
  * [Do Not Disturb: Threesome in Progress](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032538) by [alkjira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira), [diemarysues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues)




End file.
